


what doesn't kill you (will surely try again)

by alittlelesssixteencandles



Series: gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Boba Fett's pottymouth, Canon Divergence - Order 66, Canon is a coal mine and I'm a canary except this time I have a lighter and I'm not afraid to use it, Dialogue Heavy, Fix-It, Force Ghost(s), Force Visions, Force-Sensitive Clones (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Jango Fett, Gen, Government Conspiracy, I'm writing this to cope, Individual chapter word count fluxuates, Jango Fett Lives, Living Force, Mandalore, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, Not Canon Compliant, Resurrection, Second Chances, Self-Indulgent, Slow To Update, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Tags May Change, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, dave filoni stop making me cry challenge, nonbinary and trans clones, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlelesssixteencandles/pseuds/alittlelesssixteencandles
Summary: Jango Fett has always pictured his cause of death to be amid the heat of battle- not that he regularly fantasizes about his death, per se, but the thought has definitely crossed his mind. He’d go down honourably, guns ablaze, as any true Mandalorian warrior should; gloriously. Instead, he finds himself falling, falling, falling— surrounded by shards of glass and the mutilated bodies of his vod’e. It could be worse, he thinks, as he plummets to the depths of the underworld. His head aches. The bacta patch plastered to his skull is a gutting reminder of his failure, but he’d sooner be damned than to succumb to the idea that his enemy has already won. He’s still clinging to a fraying thread of hope that his transmission is received before he meets his end, and with each second that passes, his fate draws nearer.Coruscant is burning.[ Book One ]
Series: gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819045
Comments: 218
Kudos: 359





	1. Prelude: "Falling"

_“I don’t care if you ask me how we did it. Truth is, I’ve no_ _clue how I got tangled into this mess. You can hate us all you want, but at the end of the day, we saved all of your skins. And_ He _doesn't care about the Republic._ _Look, Mandalore can tell you what they want about him,_ _but_ you’re _the one who has to worry about what to do with an entire slave army now that all this is over. Personally, I’m not going back to Mandalore. But I sure as hell ain’t staying here, and I can say the same for the others. I mean, hey. He's the original, right? We're_ his _blood_. _I'll go where he goes_. _If you wanted me to come here and say that I’ll ‘concede’ with whatever the senate votes to do with us, you’re wrong. If it means we start another war to gain our rights, then fine. Regardless of what the_ Senate _thinks, we don’t belong to you anymore_ , burc’ya. _Go ahead and flick the kill switch, but we’re_ done _fighting your war. Who’s gonna stand up for you then? The Jedi?” *laughs*_ "Haatyc or’arue jate’shya ori’sol aru’ike nuhaatyc. _Wouldn’t you say?”_

**CT-30-1283, “Wick”, _Grand Army of the Republic_ , on an interview with HoloNet News to discuss the Senate’s rebuttal of Senator Amidala’s _Clone Emancipation and Rehabilitation_ bill**

* * *

**Coruscant, 19BBY, five months earlier**

Jango Fett has always pictured his cause of death to be amid the heat of battle- not that he regularly fantasizes about his death, _per se_ , but the thought has definitely crossed his mind. He’d go down honourably, guns ablaze, as any true Mandalorian warrior should; _gloriously_. Instead, he finds himself falling, _falling, falling—_ surrounded by shards of glass and the mutilated bodies of his _vod’e_. _It could be worse_ , he thinks, as he plummets to the depths of the underworld. His head aches. The bacta patch plastered to his skull is a gutting reminder of his failure, but he’d sooner be damned than to succumb to the idea that his enemy has already won. He’s still clinging to a fraying thread of hope that his transmission is received before he meets his end, and with each second that passes, his fate draws nearer.

Coruscant is burning.

Jango Fett, initially, had no intention of taking the job that would later take his life.

By his own morals (however ambiguously grey they were at the time, seeing as he didn’t care to directly confirm whether or not he was _okay_ with the idea of the Republic he knew turning corrupt and malevolent from within, and even more so he’s not sure if that mindset made him nothing but a lenient _scumbag)_ , the concept of being kidnapped and held against his will to be the victim of testing, study, and later the blueprint for a clone army isn’t exactly the prime for a respectable bounty hunter such as himself to go out. Although, it was hard to say _“Hell no, never in a million years, not for all the credits in the galaxy”_ when the blade of a bleeding lightsaber was pointed directly between his eyes, close enough that he could feel his lashes being scorched.

When he woke up in a pristine facility on a planet he’d never heard of, far beyond the reaches of the outer rim, what he was most surprised _(no, horrified, would be a better way of putting it)_ to see, wasn’t the long-necked Kaminoans shrouded in a blinding veil of surgical light, speaking in an unintelligible tongue that sent a shiver running down his spine, but through his daze and blurred vision and the flurry of panic that was beginning to overwhelm him— he realized that the needles piercing his skin were draining the blood from his body.

Jango never realized how beautiful Coruscant really is. _At least, from this angle_.

It was hard to say no when he had a tube lodged in his throat. It was hard to say no when the dull creep of sedatives clouding his mind lulled him into an ignorant bliss, into a sleep that he almost didn’t wake up from. It was even harder for Jango Fett to say no after he was extracted from a stasis chamber and he couldn’t remember his own name. In hindsight, he should have seen it coming. He should have listened to red flags and their reverberant cacophonies that pleaded him to hightail it and ruin for it when he had the chance. But he didn’t. And then Jango Fett ceased to exist.

Now, he’s just another face in an identical crowd.

And finally, after a second chance to _make it right_ , his time has come to an end.

* * *

** Bogden, 32BBY, 10 years before the death of Jango Fett**

_“So, what, exactly? I don’t get it. You_ are _aware of how insane you sound, right?” Jango berates accusingly, tone dripping unbridled suspicion. He rocks heedlessly on the back legs of his chair, staring intently at the cloaked figure that is seated poised across from him. Before he can get an answer, he begins again. “Listen,_ burc’ya, _I don’t work for free. And what you’re asking puts my life on the line. I_ never _take a job if it means I’ll have a bounty on my head for the rest of my life, and that’s_ if _I make it outta there alive. It goes the same for this. Whatever the hell it is that you’re talking about. It’s_ crazy. _Not to mention impossible._ ”

_“Name your price.”_

_Jango blinks. Part of him regrets accepting his potential employer’s request for a private room within the port cantina. He ignores the interrupting thought. “What?”_

_The stranger repeats himself slowly and leans forward in his seat. “How much_ _would it cost for your… services?”_

_The Mandalorian sits quietly for a moment before he responds. "You're talking about my DNA."  
_

_“How much?”_

_“S’that all you know how to say?” Jango remarks dryly. He doesn’t expect his companion to laugh, but his—_ personality, _or rather his_ lack _of one— is starting to unnerve him. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He forces himself to shake off his creeping anxiousness. “How much is this worth to you?” He tries. The man hums thoughtfully._

_“I have twenty-million Republic credits that I'm inclined to part with. Does that meet your requirements?” he replies coolly and sends Jango’s eyebrows shooting upward beneath the confines of his helmet. He sets his chair properly on the ground and straightens his posture, fingers instinctively curling around the blaster holstered at his hip for reasons he cannot explain. The man seems to notice the movement but remains unfazed. “Now that I have your attention, Master Fett, shall we talk business?”_

_Jango narrows his eyes._

_“We’ve been observing you for quite some time,” the stranger states, not batting an eye._

_“We? Who do you mean_ we _?” Jango snarls, suddenly aware that the guard keeping watch outside the door is moving inside. Everything within him screams at him to make a break for it, but he knows he won’t get far even if he tries. “Why me?” he demands. His heart is threatening to pound a hole through his ribcage. The man raises his arms and lowers the hood that covers him, a coy smile twitching onto his face, and croons hauntingly. "What's so special about my blood?"_

_“Because,_ Jango, _is it? You are the... how should I say it_ … the perfect specimen. _Granted, some adjustments are in order, however, I am without a shadow of a doubt that you are the right man for the task. I have...“ he trails, as his gaze hardening. A faint throbbing sensation begins to pierce Jango’s mind, almost like a headache, only it sends a ripple of irrevocable dread coursing through him and raises the hair on his nape. “..._ forseen _it.” The man finishes, flicking two fingers. The blaster flies out of Jango’s hand and clatters to the floor._

_Jango recoils, flinching violently when the firm, metallic hand of the man’s guard clamps down onto his shoulder. “Who are you?” he barks. T_ _he man stands calmly, waving his robe to the side and uses an unseen power to move the lightsaber clipped to his belt into his palm. It ignites, a dazzling beam of crimson, and suddenly the blade is mere inches from Jango’s neck. He swallows thickly. The droid holding him in place crudely tears off his helmet and throws it to the ground beside his blaster. The defiant glare of an eighteen-year-old now freely meets the man’s gaze, unhindered, and angry._ “You.” _Jango states. Anger boils in his chest._

_“Indeed,” comes the response, apathetic. The lightsaber emits a low thrum, unwavering. The man opens his mouth to speak once more. “You are much younger than I remembered.”_

“Get kriffed.”

_The man quirks a brow. “And bold, as well."_ _Jango's captor lets out a dismissing sigh. “The less work I must do, the better. Won't you agree? Come, let us... discuss our arrangement."_

_Jango holds back a retort. He doesn’t like the way the lightsaber was edging ever closer to his neck. He’s starting to sweat. "Do I have a choice?"_

_“_ _I_ _don’t need you alive,” the man tests. “Your body will do just fine. Though its hardly worth the trouble of_ dragging onto my ship. _"_

_That strikes a nerve. Jango buries it. With a low hiss, the sabre is sheathed and, reluctantly, Jango is lead with subtle gunpoint by the man's guards, away from the room—_

_And away from freedom._

* * *

**Log: 19BBY**

**CT-29-1282**

This is the account of how I died.

Or, technically, the story of how I lived, died, and lived again.

Undoubtedly, I’ll be branded insane, but as the Jedi say, the force works in mysterious ways, and to be brought back from ' _the other side_ ' isn’t the weirdest thing that’s happened to me.

It’s come to my attention that the story of what actually happened during the events that played out during the clone war was, at best, muted. The Senate ruled that the details of the GAR’s campaigns throughout the course of the war be— let’s say, _toned down_ for the public ear. They don’t want the civvies getting the wrong idea, that maybe the Republic is the bad guy after all. ‘Cause hey, _“It’s not our fault that a Sith lord came to power and tried to exterminate the entire Jedi order and establish an imperialist dictatorship. No, that wasn’t our fault. We didn’t know, we swear!”_ , right? who’s to blame them. Apparently coming to terms with killing millions of my brothers didn’t sit right with the higher-ups, so they just pretended it wasn’t that bad.

No, I’m not saying the entire Republic government is corrupt. After all, I did everything I could to save it, right? It got me killed, but at least I can say I did it for the right reasons. The Senator of Naboo and Chancellor Organa are to thank for the political side of our victory, because without them, my _vod'e_ , as well as myself, would still be _property_.

Geonosis, 22BBY, about a good two days before the Republic officially declared war on the Confederacy of Independent Systems _(Sidious and his goons, essentially. There were some other factors that led to the Separatist uprising, but the finer print can be ignored for the time being)._

To be one-hundred percent honest with you, twenty-million credits is a _lot of money._ Had the circumstances for... _him_ being stalked, kidnapped, and enslaved, and brainwashed to the point of unquestioning loyalty to the Separatist cause been different, he would have taken the money. 

I’m getting off track.

The last thing he remembers, some Jedi was taking a swing at his head, which was officially the _third_ time that had happened. Before that, a Jedi showed up unannounced on Kamino, tried to kidnap him, _(or rescue, I haven’t decided. He said it was ‘for questioning, because he tried to assassinate a senator twice’, but I’m not sure that was the sole reason. The clone army is pretty distracting)_ , and one thing led to another, and he ended up here. Back where it all started.

And ended.

I hope this memoir provides some insight. And I really hope it doesn’t piss someone off and get me killed again. I’m tired of fucking dying.

This is for the best of us, _ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,_ Ninety-Nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/16/20 ]
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> burc’ya — pal, buddy, friend (can be used ironically)  
> haatyc or’arue jate’shya ori’sol aru’ike nuhaatyc — mandalorian proverb. “better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can’t.”  
> vod’e — siblings, plural form of vod  
> ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum — daily remembrance of those passed on. “i’m still alive, but you are dead. i remember you, so you are eternal.” followed by repetition of loved ones’ names.


	2. Chapter One: "Rebirth"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango 'fake it till you make it' Fett suddenly has a lot more kids than he signed up for.

_“I’m sorry, sir, we didn’t know what else to do. Our sergeant_ _—_ _well, he wasn’t much help.”_

_“Don’t apologize, kid. He’ll come around. They always do. Is this him?”_

_“Yes, sir. Te An had him sent back here last night and he hasn’t moved since we laid him down. I... didn’t think we’d ever see him again.”_

“… _Vod,_ can you hear me?”

 _“You’re wasting his time, Deke, he’s nothing but a_ _walking corpse_ _now. He’s_ gone _, you’ve gotta accept it and move on.”_

 _“Stow it_ , rookie _. I’ve seen them_ _return to normal_ _. It just_ _t_ _akes time. That’s all._ ”

Someone snaps their fingers beside his ear. Jango tries to open his eyes, but his body doesn’t respond. _“Hey, do that again, I think it’s working!”_ a sharp backhand to his jaw stuns him fully awake. He draws in a ragged gasp, suddenly able to move, and before he can give discretion a second thought he throws a punch at the nearest face and sends them reeling backward. _“I didn’t mean slap him senseless, you_ _kriffing_ _idiot!”_

Jango’s brow furrows in confusion.

 _“He’s_ already _senseless. Look at him!_ Kark _, that hurt!”_

He groans, pushing away a hand that had come to rest on his shoulder. His vision still hasn’t fully cleared, but he’s starting to make out the vague outline of a girl sitting at the end of the bed, peering at him with concern. After a few moments of tense silence, and rapid blinking on Jango’s part, he pushes himself into a sitting position and glances around at the group of _clones_ gathered around him.

They stare back, and nearly a minute passes by the time the girl clears her throat and addresses him hesitantly. “How’re you feeling?” she tests cautiously, in Basic. Her hands are wrapped gently, yet firm, around his ankles to prevent him from kicking her off the bed should he panic. Jango narrows his eyes.

“Where am I?”

“Kamino,” the man to his left replies tersely. He’s clinging to the ladder between Jango’s bed and another, which turns out to be a wall of sleeping capsules.

_Why am I in the barracks?_

“You’re… recovering,” the girl states and Jango realizes that he’s voiced his thoughts aloud. His grip slackens, and he pulls his hands back into his lap.

“Recovering from _what_?”

The clone holding on to the ladder lets out a sigh and sits down on the edge of the bed, the kama around his waist swaying with the movement. Unlike the other two troopers, dressed in deep-scarlet cadet uniforms, he’s fully equipped in a set of well-worn plastoid armour painted with stripes of light grey and red, and he cradles his helmet under one arm. He sets it beside him before looking at Jango directly with a contrite, pained expression.

“You were reconditioned, kid.”

Jango’s heart leaps into his throat. “That’s— _no_ ,” he declines. “What?” _Why can I remember everything, then? Who mistook me for a clone, it’s not like I’m not-_ he looks down at his hands. _Where's my armour?_

“Hey, it’s normal to be confused.” The clone speaks again. Jango looks up sharply. “Things are gonna be a bit hazy for a few days, but it’ll clear up soon. Your squad will tell you everything.”

“Right,” the girl interjects, offering Jango a timid smile. “I’m Deke. That _di’kut_ with the black eye is Scud.”

“The others went to the mess, they should be back soon,” Scud adds, relenting. He appears to forgive Jango for nearly sending him dropping like a sack to the floor several feet below, and gives a meek look. “Sorry I smacked you... eh, a bit harder than I meant.”

“Commander Colt,” the man sitting at Jango’s side says, raising an arm to clasp him lightly on the shoulder. His head is shaved, and he has a small scar across his lip that twitches slightly when he talks. “Take it easy until you’re feeling better, kid. The war’s not going anywhere,” he shifts to grab hold of the ladder once more, but pauses and lowers his voice. “Try not to draw too much attention to yourself, alright? There’s only so much I can do. And I’m sorry I couldn’t...” he trails off, gritting his teeth and foregoing the notion. The other two clones seem to understand what he meant and both nod solemnly. Colt gives Jango’s arm a squeeze and lets go, mutters a quick goodbye, and slides down the ladder.

Jango’s eyes dart blankly between Deke and Scud.

 _“What the_ _hell_ _is going on?”_ he hisses, more to himself, suddenly releasing the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The scowl on Scud’s face returns.

“Those long-necked bastards took you. There wasn’t anything _wrong_ and they called you defective after you _stood up for yourself_. For _us_. Said you were _too aggressive_ _and a danger to your fellow cadets_. I swear, I’m gonna wring their-”

“ _Scud,”_ Deke warns, reaching out to grab him by the wrist. Deflating, the clone sinks onto the bed with his back facing his two companions. Deke returns her gaze to Jango. “Your name is Kane. On the record, your number’s CT-29-1282, but I doubt _they_ would let you forget that. And... Scud’s right. The Commander tried to stop it when he found out what had happened.”

“ _What_ happened?” Jango blurts.

Deke purses her lips. “You... yelled at the Kaminoans.” Scud heaves out a dry laugh. “You said what everyone else was thinking, so it’s not like no one understands _why_ you did it, but...”

“Aggression is not tolerated,” Jango recites monotonously. Deke’s mouth snaps shut, and Scud twists around wildly to look at him. “Insubordination is not tolerated. I know the spiel.” He stops himself from adding _I wrote it._

After a moment, his gaze flicks up to meet Deke’s. A tuft of curl that had been pushed back has fallen loose over her forehead, and she sweeps a finger across it to move it out of her eyes. Jango’s pulse feels like a ticking time-bomb, ready to explode at any given moment, and he’s almost sure that the two clones can hear it. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His companions share a worried glance.

“You should try and rest, _vod,_ ” Scud mumbles, watching him searchingly. “You look tired,” with that input, it was as if all the energy that Jango thought he had entirely _vanishes_ , leaving him exhausted and willing to capitulate to the sinking... He’s suddenly _sinking_ into the gel padding of his capsule’s sleeping mat, and he hears Deke faintly whisper to him as his capsule glides closed with a plaintive hiss.

The soft light of the pod dims to total darkness, and he falls unconscious.

* * *

_“Wake up,_ _ori’vod_ _.”_

Jango starts, sitting up and cracking his forehead _hard_ on the roof of his sleeping capsule. He swears loudly and raises a hand to rub his temple with a wince. “Who’s there?”

“Me,” a voice close to his ear speaks, now in Mando’a. He yelps, swatting out wildly with his arm to turn the light on, but no one is there.

“Great, now I’m going crazy.”

The voice snickers quietly, and suddenly an apparition shrouded in a thin veil of muted blue appears in front of Jango, sitting crossed-legged with its— _head_ ducked down, mirroring Jango to avoid hitting the ceiling. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to scare you. Much.”

“I’m hallucinating.” Jango returns, incredulous.

“Afraid not,” The spectre muses, tilting its head to the side. “But I guess if it makes more sense, then yes, you’re dreaming. But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

After a lull, Jango opens his mouth to demand an explanation, but he’s interrupted.

“You're probably confused, naturally. I didn’t expect you not to be, so I— _well_ , to say the least, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to break this to you without sounding crazy and making you flip out. Then again, _I’m_ the ghost, and _you’re_ the resurrected bounty hunter in the body of a dead clone of _yourself_ , so I guess things can’t get any weirder than this, right?” the apparition continues. A beat of stunned silence on Jango’s part follows. It cringes. “Sorry,” Jango stares, dumbfounded, as the blurred form of the _thing_ facing him clears to reveal _himself_. Only different. Younger, without the crow’s-feet and scars cutting across his skin. “I’m not you,” The man, no, _boy_ , replies.

“You’re a clone?” Jango asks. The ghost nods.

“I tried to keep you under until you woke up on your own, but then the commander showed up, and… It’s probably better that you were a bit out of sorts, in retrospect. He knew what to say to keep you from freaking out, I think,” the kid grimaces at his choice of words. “I’m just as clueless as you, sir. I am only a cadet, after all.”

Jango furrows his brow, tightly clutching the thin blanket that had been lain across his legs. He didn’t recall it being there earlier, which meant someone had put it there when he was still asleep. He struggles for words briefly, before a heavy shudder wracks his body. The cadet chews his lip, waiting for the man to speak. “I died. I’m _dead_.”

“So did I, sir,” the clone whispers. Jango draws in an unsteady breath. “But here you are. Here _I_ am.”

“You’re Kane, aren’t you?”

“Technically that’s Kane,” the ghost responds, managing a weary smile while pointing to Jango’s body. “Don’t ask me how it happened, because I have no clue. The last thing I remember is being forced into the stasis chamber,” he pauses, choking down the lump in his throat. “And then I just… saw _me_. And you. But you weren’t fully there, like me. It was _weird_. My heart stopped. Something went wrong with the freezing process and it killed me. They were about to send my body to the cremation centre when you woke up and tried to rip the karking head off of a medical droid. They kept you sedated for a while until your vitals had slowed down and… finished.”

“Finished the reconditioning?” Jango clarifies. Kane makes an affirming noise. “How did you know who I was?”

“I saw your armour,” comes the response, simply. The cadet shuffles nervously— _if ghosts can shuffle nervously_ _—_ and resumes. “We only heard stories of you from the older cadets. The ones you trained. And Mandalorian armour is pretty unmistakable, even when it’s on a ghost.”

“Can anyone else see you?” Jango asks. Kane shakes his head, startled by the abrupt question.

“No. I tried getting someone to notice me. I wasn’t even sure if _you_ would be able to, either,” he admits. The look on Kane’s face— _happiness, Jango decides, because if_ he _were stuck as a ghost on the mortal plane with no one to talk to, he’d be reasonably upset, too_ _—_ falters, and he frowns.

“What?”

“Some of the older cadets said you were a Separatist,” Jango sets his jaw, refusing to speak. “Are you?”

“Does it matter?” he evades. Kane only shrugs.

“I don’t know. You were sent back for a reason, right?”

Jango cocks his head, leaning back against his elbows and stretches his legs out a little further, hoping Kane won’t mind. “How do you mean?”

“Well, if you were just another dirty sleemo in it for the money,” Kane begins but cuts himself short of finishing the remark. The two sit in bleak silence until he mumbles an apology. “You were sent back, _sir_. I _saw_ it. And _I_ was kept here with you. There’s gotta be some _purpose_ for us, isn’t there? Or else, we should have…” he mimics a _poof_ noise.

Jango nods, unconvinced. Kane looks up from his hands. “So what do we do, assuming you’re right?”

“As opposed to what, you being high off your _shebs_ on painkillers? No amount of stitches can re-attach a severed head.”

“...Good point.”

“I don’t know,” Kane replies honestly, answering the question. A strange feeling pools in Jango’s chest. He does his best to ignore it and contemplates to himself for a moment.

“How soon does your squad ship out?”

Kane blinks. “We’re not done our training yet. Our final exam is in two days, although now the general might have it pushed back for my— your— _kriff_ ,” he spits, frustration boiling over. “ _Our_ sakes.”

“The general? What general?”

“General Ti.” Kane states.

“Who the hell is that?”

“The Jedi master that oversees our training.”

“A Jedi?” Jango scoffs. “Since when?”

Kane’s eyebrows climb upward, and he stumbles over his words. “Well, she— um. A while? I don’t know! Geonosis, I think?”

Jango pales. “Geonosis?”

“…Yeah?”

“Kid, _how long ago_ was Geonosis?”

Pained realization dawns on Kane’s face. “Almost six months ago.”

Jango exhales sharply. Kane picks at a loose thread on his uniform— a worthless feat, as the fact remains that he is, indeed, deceased. “What’s happened since then?”

“Oh… well, I don’t hear a lot outside of when the _ori’vode_ _c_ ome back from deployments, and it’s mostly, _ah_ , watered-down or over-exaggerated. The Seppies invaded a lot of systems since then or shifted them to their cause. Malastare Narrows was a huge battle...”

“Are the Jedi leading the war?” Jango presses. Kane looks up from his hands and nods curtly. “ _Scrag_.”

The cadet wrinkles his nose. “Why scrag? The Jedi have got no more say in it than we do. It’s not like they _want_ to fight.”

“Do _you_?”

“The Separatists are killing our _vod’e_ , Jango,” Kane answers firmly. “Had I got the _chance_ to, yeah. I did want to fight.”

Jango’s lip curls. “You’re programmed to _die_ for the Republic, kid. They don’t care about you, least of all the Jedi.”

“How do you know you weren’t programmed too, huh? You’re _dead_ , Jango. That’s _my_ skin you’re wearing,” he snarls, jabbing his finger at the man’s chest, who involuntarily flinches at the sudden wave of cold that shoots through him. The boy pulls his hand back as if the action had burned him.

“...Did you?”

“ _You felt that_?” They chorus simultaneously, eyes wide with bewildered shock. Kane tentatively sticks out a finger and gives Jango a light poke on the arm. The place where it touched grows a dull cold, barely there, yet chilled nonetheless. Before Jango can speak, the cadet’s features harden in anger and he slaps the man in front of him without warning or hesitation, drawing out a yelp of surprise.

“What the hell was that for?”

Kane’s lip trembles. _A_ pang of deep regret washes over Jango, although the cadet is still unmistakably cross. “You should go back to sleep. You’re gonna have a long day tomorrow,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“I’m sorry I flipped out,” Jango whispers. He cringes inwardly. Kane falters. The obvious vulnerability of the _boy_ in front of him makes Jango feel worse.

“I can see why the long-necks called you aggressive,” he mumbles, letting Jango nudge him gently until he raises his head. “I kind of like you, though.”

“Kind of?” Jango returns, rueful. Kane manages a weak, dry laugh. “Do you sleep at all?”

A pained look in the cadet’s eye dwindles for a moment. “Yeah. Don’t need to, but it… passes the time, I guess. It’s more like drifting off but never fully being asleep. Not quite awake, though, either. I’ve only been dead for a day, so I’m not exactly an _expert_ on the astral dimension, or whatever. Kriff, I don’t know,” he fumbles, drawing a chuckle from Jango. “I’d better let you get to it, old man.”

“I’m hardly twenty-eight, _adiik_.”

“ _Goodnight_ , sir,” Kane responds quietly and doesn’t wait for a reply before he moves backward and disappears through the wall of the capsule.

Jango sits in silence, finally alone, trying to understand the odd sensation that had begun to build around him similar to the one he’d felt before. Deciding he’s just tired, and shyly hoping that he isn’t dreaming, he lowers himself back down and shuts out the light.

* * *

Jango had woken before the living remainder of Kane’s squad. Technically, _he_ is Kane now, which means he has to get used to the mandatory regulations of being a clone, particularly that of a recruit. It helps that Jango already knows the regulation manual from front to back, as he’d helped to write many of the rules himself, yet he has to remind himself that he is surrounded by _kids_ and that in order to not be a target of suspicion from the Kaminoans like Colt had suggested, he has to keep his head down. At least until he makes it out of Tipoca city. _Easy enough_ , he thinks. Being one of the best— or _formerly_ one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy, the trials of a rookie cadet should go by in a breeze. The biggest problem he faces, however, is making sure his squad does as well. ( _At Kane’s request, Jango begrudgingly agreed to do his best to train the other cadets while still maintaining his cover as a rookie clone. He doesn’t need to give the Kaminoans any reason to believe that reconditioning had suddenly brought out the best in a rebelling clone, or to make them think that perhaps there was something wrong with the entire batch… It makes Jango shiver at the idea_. He’d always hated them _. Until he gets some answers, laying low is the best option._ )

He stares at his reflection in the refresher’s mirror, somewhat unsettled at the clean slate that is now his face. Thankfully, the knee injury he’d sustained when completing a bounty at is no longer, and he can now freely move to his younger self’s extent, but all the same, Kane hasn’t ceased with pestering him to keep his body safely intact. _It’s not like he’s going to get it back though, right?_ Jango runs a hand over the smooth skin of his cheek, pointedly ignoring Kane’s presence beside him, sitting on the counter lazily and prattling something about “Bravo Squad’s accomplishments”.

“I’m not saying Tango’s bad… it’s just that. Ah, hell, Scud has anger issues and it gets in the way sometimes.”

“Anger issues never get in my way, kid,” Jango responds gruffly. Kane shrugs.

“Yeah, well, you’re not genetically modified to be agreeable.”

Jango raises an accusatory brow. “You’re saying I’m disagreeable?”

Kane blanches. “I’m saying you’re a bit rough around the edges, sir. That’s all.”

“You’re up early,” someone speaks. Jango snaps his neck toward the door, where a clone donned in a black body glove enters. Her hair’s slightly mussed, and she carries what looks to be a toiletry kit in her hand. She throws it unceremoniously onto the counter and begins to undo the plait that keeps the shoulder-length half of her hair tied back. The other side of his head is buzzed to the scalp. She has a large bacta patch plastered on her forearm with a spot of dried blood soaking through the center, where the sleeve of her blacks is pushed up above the elbow.

“Act natural, _vod_. You’re me, remember?” Kane whispers. Jango sends him a curt look before responding casually.

“Couldn’t sleep, sir.”

The woman’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Excited for the big day, huh?” Jango nods. She chuckles warmly. “I remember when I graduated. Best feeling in the world when General Ti said she was proud of me and my squad, I still haven’t forgotten it. Granted, she probably says that to everyone, but still. Don’t worry about it, kid. You’ll do great.”

Jango sends her a friendly smile. “Thank you…”

“Sorry, _vod_ , where are my manners. I’m Jaro. I just got back from deployment with the 212th this morning.”

“ _That’s General Kenobi’s battalion_ ,” Kane adds. Jango resists the urge to scowl.

“I’m Kane,” he replies. The _real_ Kane beams.

“He’s so cool,” he breathes. Jango shoots him an exasperated glare from the corner of his eye when Jaro turns back to the mirror. “ _What_?”

“Well, I gotta hit the showers, kid. I’ll see you around,” she speaks again, sending Jango another bright grin. “Good luck on your test!” Jango nods, flashing a smile in return before he moves to leave the refresher. Kane slides off the counter and hurries after him.

“Not bad.”

“I’m a bounty hunter. Lying is part of the job description.”

“So acting natural comes easy, then,” Kane ponders aloud. Jango doesn’t reply. The day-shift guards are starting to switch places with their night-shift counterparts, and like Jaro, veterans fresh in on leave are a striking contrast to the pristine, unscathed armour of graduated clones and crimson-clad cadets like Jango. Truthfully, Jango feels naked without the familiar weight of his _beskar_. _That_ _is_ _something he’_ _ll_ _have to get over_.

By the time the two make it back to the barracks, Deke is awake and pacing in front of the lockers below their bunks. Her face lights up when she sees Jango but quickly transforms over with concern.

“Where were you?” behind him, Scud and two other clones are sitting on a bench. “Kriff, I was worried sick about you, don’t _kriffing_ disappear like that!” she seethes, smacking Jango’s shoulder when he comes closer.

“What is it with this squad and _hitting_ me?” Jango barks. Deke’s face falls. Noticing this, Jango sighs under his breath. “Sorry. Went to the refresher and got twisted around.”

Kane winces when Jango whacks him upside the head and plays it off as a stretch. “I _told_ you to go left, _di’kut_.”

“Oh,” Deke mumbles. She raises an arm to rub the back of her neck.

“I’m Wick,” one of the other clones says, drawing Jango’s attention. “This 5772, they uh- doesn’t have a name yet,” he adds. 5772 raises a hand and waves. “We were waiting for you to get back so we could go to the mess,” he finishes, standing and extending an arm to clap Jango on the back, but thinks better of it and slings an arm across Deke’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about this one, worrying’s _her_ job,” He snickers. Deke scoffs.

“I’m older than you.”

Wick wags a finger. “Yeah, but I’m smarter. Right, 57?” 5772 mutters a snide remark under their breath and shakes their head with an amused smile.

“C’mon, _vod_. We gotta get some grub in you before we kick Bravo’s _shebs_ today,” Scud interjects, giving Jango’s sleeve a tug on his way by to follow Deke and Wick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/16/20 ]
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
> vod — sibling  
> di’kut — idiot  
> ori’vod — older sibling. “big brother”  
> adiik — kid, child  
> jaro — “death wish”, insane act of reckless stupidity  
> shebs — ass


	3. Chapter Two: "Fear And Loathing"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scud: haha G7 heavy rotary go brrrrr

Jango watches as Bravo Squad manoeuvres through their battle simulation with disinterested boredom from beside Tango and the other cadets. A _facade that he keeps, for reasons unknown to himself other than to keep Kane’s confidence in his_ _batch mates_ _from plummeting_ _._ If he were still _alive_ and overseeing the clones’ training, he would be almost benign to pin the graduation medals to the troopers’ brand-new armour. _Almost_. He can’t allow himself to get attached, knowing full well the majority of the rookie clones aren’t likely to make it past their first deployment. That’s simply the way it turns out. But if he were still alive to train, _to guide,_ as he should have been doing all this time, instead of taking the last commission that had eventually gotten him killed— he wouldn’t _have_ to worry about that.

Now, it’s all he can do to ensure his own survival.

All in all, Bravo is indeed talented, with the added proclivity for being able to proficiently cover up their mistakes from the untrained eye. But Jango _is_ trained, and he can see their faults, such as CT-889 and his unhealthy habit of failing to check over his shoulder before moving to a different cover that nearly results in getting a stun bolt to the head on more than one occasion. Jango would have never let that habit go unchecked, but he’s not the one in charge of these cadets.

Briefly, his attention shifts to the overseer’s booth, where the faint silhouette of a Togrutan female is outlined. _T_ _he_ _Jedi_ , he notes with distaste but pushes the thought away. Two ARC troopers including Commander Colt, and the contracted bounty hunters stand beside her. A trace of possessiveness over his former position sparks something inside him, anger, maybe, he can’t tell. _The bounty hunters are good at their jobs, but not good enough_. Not good enough that these _kids_ will stay alive outside of sheer _luck_ when they’re finally on a real battlefield.

His gaze drifts back down to where one of Bravo’s members is pulling himself onto the base of the citadel block and is about to rappel up and claim the beacon. Turning away from the guard rail, Jango picks up his helmet and rifle and rests the barrel over his shoulder.

“Are we next?” Wick blurts, noticing Jango’s movement from the corner of his eye. Getting nothing but a quiet hum in response, he stoops to pick up his blaster from the bench behind him and hurries after, followed by the rest of his squad. Falling into pace with Jango, he casts a casual, _not at all tense_ glance at his brother. “D’you think we’ll pass?”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes,” he replies, not missing a beat.

“Confident, _vod_?” Wick laughs, easing slightly.

“I know my— _our_ strengths. We’ll be fine… _vod_.” Jango adds, flashing a lightning-quick smirk that disappears as soon as it arrives.

 _“Tango Squad, please proceed to the simulation grounds,”_ _T_ he voice of a woman, (presumably Shaak Ti) sounds through the loudspeakers above their heads.

“Hey, good luck out there.” A cadet to Jango’s right calls out, offering a shy smile when his gaze is returned. He and his batch mates’ armour are painted a dark green, numbers one through five embellished on their armour just like Tango’s. Jango nods in return, not realizing he’s leading the rest of his squad to the elevator shaft, making the impression that he’s the leader.

He bites back a yelp of surprise when Kane whispers beside him and promptly forces away the guilty realization that he’s forgotten he was there.

“That’s Domino. They’re, uh— well... they’re not _terrible_.”

“That good, huh?” Jango breathes in response, quiet enough that only Kane can hear. The cadet shrugs.

“Not much worse than us.”

“Those clankers aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.” Scud snickers, unaware of his own interruption as he lugs his G7 into the lift, the hip-fire rotary resting against his thigh.

“If you punch another goddamn droid this time _I swear to the_ _force_ I’ll break your karking arm again.” 5772 berates and seals their helmet in place without another word.

 _“57’s training to be a med-tech.”_ Kane continues. The elevator heaves as it starts to lower. “ _Their bedside manner… well, speaks for itself._ ”

“Can you two shut up?” Deke barks.

“You _di’kuts_ know the officers can hear you, right?” Jango remarks dryly. Kane snorts.

“…They can?” Scud mumbles, reddening with embarrassment as the lift doors glide open. “I hope they don’t give me a demerit.”

“For what, being stupid?” Wick laughs. The group waits for Bravo to pass by them before settling into formation, awaiting the simulation to begin.

“If they gave demerits for being kriffing dumbasses there wouldn’t be an army, kid,” Jango mutters dryly, wincing internally when he catches himself.

Wick sends him a look. “You’re a _day_ older than me, Kane.”

“I’m still older than you.” Jango retorts, now with a lighthearted smile, inwardly sighing in relief. “Cut the chatter, we’ve got orders inbound,” he asserts. On cue, the command resounds through their communication channels.

“How did you-“

Jango points to the commlink that had flashed before and after the order sounded on Scud’s wrist with one finger that he lifts off his rifle’s fore-grip. The younger cadet mouths out an ‘ _oh_ ’ and adjusts his grip on the rotary that he keeps balanced on his knee while crouched down.

With a low buzz announcing the start of the simulation, panels on the walls abruptly slide back and start releasing reprogrammed battle droids. The turrets on the guard towers flanking Tango begin firing without a moment’s notice, and as instinct takes over, Jango and the rest of his squad begin firing rounds from their blasters. To his left, Deke and Wick brake off from the group to dash to a barricade a few metres ahead as they were taught in the practice trials. With one quick shot, Jango aims upward and takes out the turret above the two cadets before standing and advancing with Scud, who walks slow, but careful, with the barrel of his G7 downwind and kicking out a flurry of blaster bolts. They meet their destination in the chest plates of a line of droids.

 _“_ _Behind you!_ _”_ Kane alerts, letting a bolt cut straight through his shoulder. Jango whirls, spinning on his heel to raise his opposite leg in a sharp, upward kick and knocks a battle droid that had emerged through a panel on the floor behind him, back to the ground. He fires two quick shots to deactivate it before he lets out a yell to the rest of Tango.

“Watch your rear sectors, they’re coming out behind us!”

“ _Kark_.” 5772 growls, popping their head above the edge of the cover they’re hiding behind to fire off a few rounds from their DC-17. “Hope they don’t give me a demerit for this!” They mock over the comm in a sing-song voice, followed by a short burst of laughter as they vault over the wall and tear the head off of a battle droid. It collapses into a heap of sparks and heated metal as the cadet rushes to catch up with Jango and Scud, who had taken to the right side of the battleground adjacent to Deke and Wick.

“Having fun?” Jango grunts, flicking the release on his rifle’s magazine. It drops, and in less than a second, the man has it reloaded and firing once more. 5772 doesn’t respond. They let out an enraged roar, jolting backward when the edge of a bolt skims their shoulder and sends them reeling, though not enough to knock them down.

“That _hurt,_ you bloody tin can!” They yell, snapping a shot that meets its mark perfectly between the receptors of the assailing droid.

“You good?” Scud calls over his shoulder. His whirring rotary dispenses another quick burst of fire.

“Clipped me in the shoulder, I’m fine.”

After clearing the left flank, Deke and Wick were in the process of returning when a group of commando droids emerges from the panels between the two groups. Wick swears loud enough to be heard from across the expanse and jumps back in surprise, wrapping his free hand around Deke’s bicep and yanks her behind the row of pillars in the centre of the concourse.

Without a word, Jango sucks in a steady breath and turns, dropping to one knee to take aim at the commandos who were dividing themselves. He can only drop two before the last had become near enough to take a loose swing at Scud’s head. It parries to dodge the bullet 57 fires and knocks the weapon out of their hand, but before it can stun the cadet, Jango tosses aside his rifle and tackles it to the ground.

“Go help Wick!” He orders Scud and 5772, wrangling the commando unit’s arm to keep it from firing. “I’ve got this, go!” He barks, when the two cadets were hesitating. They don’t wait for Jango to repeat himself and take off toward where Deke and Wick were trying (and failing) to hold off the remaining three commandos. The droid bucks Jango off with a hard knee to his stomach, sending him toppling to the ground with a cough. He flips over and scrambles to his feet, narrowly avoiding a blow to his legs when the droid tries to swipe him back to the ground. It darts for its weapon that it had dropped, a grave mistake— giving Jango the upper hand to dive for its head. He wrestles with it for a few more moments, and finally rips its head from its socket as 5772 had done to a battle droid not long before.

* * *

“You did not mention the talent this squad possesses, commander.” Shaak Ti speaks thoughtfully. “Cadet 29-1282 is… _remarkably proficient_ in close-quarters combat,” she adds, searching gaze following the cadet as he sprints to help the rest of his squad with what was left of the commando droids. Silence falls thick around her, _tense_ , she senses, as the clone commander standing rigid beside her nods in a terse response. She doesn’t press the subject with the obvious inclination that Colt is hiding something from her, something that he doesn’t want to share in front of the bounty hunters that are observing the final exams in the same room.

“Yes,” Bric muses, stroking his chin. “He’s a good shot too, uh... _for a clone_.”

Colt bristles.

“Their status as clones means nothing, Bric,” the Jedi interjects quietly, careful to keep herself even. The bounty hunter shoots her a disbelieving glance, but says nothing and lets her continue. “However, your efforts to train these cadets are commendable.” Casting a tentative look toward Colt from the corner of her eye, she pauses for a moment. “I should like to have a word with CT-29-1282 following the test. He might be suited for additional training, would you agree?” She finishes, addressing Colt. The commander nods again after brief contemplation. “It is settled then.”

“They haven’t graduated _yet_ , general.” Bric scoffs.

“Do you not have confidence in them?” El-Les asks, incredulous.

“You forget that that clone was reconditioned two days ago, _El-Les,”_ Bric retorts, pointedly brushing off the conversation after speaking to focus on Tango Squad’s efforts. By now, the group had neutralized the commando units and are working on trying to make their way to the citadel through the last opposition of battle droids.

Shaak’s thoughts race. Forcing herself to keep the unwelcome agitation at bay, she shuts her eyes and draws in a deep breath. She holds it, lets it go, and with it, the negative qualms dissipate into the force. Colt appears to notice this cycle, but he stays silent. “I thought I had made it clear that reconditioning methods were made illegal by the senate, Bric. That is why I left my post, to be present for the bill’s proceeding vote.” She states, with a neutrally clipped tone. The air around her grows thick. Realizing he’s hit a nerve, the drill instructor cringes.

“Ah, general, the word didn’t come through until after you’d returned from Coruscant-”

“I will discuss this with you later.” She dismisses, setting her jaw tightly as 29-1282 clambers up on top of the citadel with the rest of his squad to grab the red beacon, letting out a triumphant holler when one of his fellow cadets raises the beacon above their head. _A disturbance in the force is… surrounding him_. _With it, the_ ghost _of a cadet is standing with an eager smile and rests an arm around 29-1282’s shoulders_. Shaak’s mouth falls agape, astounded as the cadet turns to the ghost when his batch mates are preoccupied with their victory and _grins_. It falters when he looks up and makes eye contact with Ti herself through the shaded glass, features suddenly twisting piercing and… _animus_ behind the screen of his helmet.

* * *

“What do you mean she _saw_ you?” Kane hisses, stumbling to catch up with Jango after he brashly stormed off once their graduation ceremony had finished, under the guise of going to find the refresher.

“She saw me, kid. I _felt_ her watching me.”

“Of course she was watching you, you weren’t exactly subtle, remember?” Kane remarks. After a pause, he speaks a quiet suggestion. “You should go talk to her.”

Jango stops his tracks, looking over his shoulder to direct a vehement glare at Kane. “She’s a _Jedi_. I’m a _Mandalorian_. I don’t know if they’ve ever taught you what the force-users did to my people in the war, Kane, but it's not something that any Mandalorian forgets. Those... _grovelling_ hypocrites that call themselves Mandalorians nowadays erased our culture after the Jedi massacred our warriors during the war. _My family_.” He growls.

“What if she can help us, Jango?” Kane pleads. “What if she can help _me_?” At this, the man freezes from where he’d resumed his brisk pace, determined to get as far away from the Jedi as possible. That changes when he matches Kane’s gaze again, taken aback by the resolute _desperation_ that meets him in return. “Brother, _please_.” He begs, shifting back into basic.

Jango hadn’t noticed that they had switched to Mando’a mid-conversation. Sighing, he runs a hand across his nape. “If she finds out who I am and arrests me for conspiracy against the Republic, it's _your_ _fault_.”

“ _Are_ you tied up in one?”

“…Probably,” Jango grunts, moving to return back in the direction that he and Kane had come. _Toward_ the Jedi _._ “But technically, I was working for the Count of Serreno when _Kenobi_ tracked me to Kamino.”

“So you _are_ a Separatist.”

“ _No_ , I’m a bounty hunter and I took a commission to protect Nute Gunray. There’s a difference.”

“You tried to assassinate the senator of Naboo. Twice.”

“It wasn’t personal.”

Kane wrinkles his nose. “You have an impeccable code of ethics, _vod_.”

“Shut up, shiny.”

* * *

Colt inhales a calming breath, standing with his hand curled, ready to knock on the door of his general’s quarters. He has no idea why his nerves are frayed, knowing full well that the Jedi will be more than understanding and more importantly, _on his side,_ but he can’t help the reproachful, nagging feeling that she’ll be upset with him. Reconditioning isn’t a subject taken lightly, least of all when the conduct that General Ti had strictly enforced against it was breached without her knowledge. It is fear, he realizes, in spite of his best efforts to trust in his general with the sensitive topic, that kept him from telling her and getting her to put a stop to the events before they had played out. The irrational fear of blame, perhaps. Or the Kaminoan’s threat that Colt should not overstep his bounds as a mere _commander_ , or else he would be subject to the same _corrections_. He has no power over anything in Tipoca, especially when the _long-necks_ slap 'internal affairs’ onto minor infractions such as a _cadet acting out of line_ _._ He starts when the door in front of him opens abruptly, revealing Ti, with her hands tucked within the sleeves of her robe.

“I was wondering how long you were planning on waiting there, commander.” She greets, the corners of her lips teasing a gentle smile. She steps back, extending an arm in a gesture for Colt to enter her quarters. The apartment is fairly spacious, similar to most in Tipoca, and sparsely decorated save for the meditation mat situated in the centre of the circular main room. A short hallway branches off toward a kitchenette, refresher, and a singular sleeping capsule. Colt had been here once before, only to guide the Jedi to her flat when she had arrived on Kamino for the first time to take over where _The Template_ had left off. Ti raises two fingers and uses the force to place another pad on the floor across from her own, where she lowers into a cross-legged position. Colt follows suit, setting his helmet down beside him. Timidly, he meets her eye.

“Sir, I...”

Ti lifts a hand. “ _It is not your fault_ , Colt. I simply wish to know what happened.”

Colt fidgets. “29-1282, Kane, they call him, he... well _the record_ states that he refused subordination and verbally threatened Dr. An, to the extent that she felt the cadet would have pursued physical violence had he not been apprehended by security. He resisted containment. Dr. An decided his aggression required disciplinary action, which was resisted as well, and...” he breaks off.

“But that is not what really occurred, correct?” Ti asks. When Colt becomes hesitant, she reiterates her statement. “I trust your word, commander. And I sense that the Kaminoans are not truthful in their reports.”

Shoulders sagging, Colt’s gaze drops to his hands momentarily before he responds. “I wasn’t there, sir. I only heard about it when the kid’s batchers woke me up and took me to see him after the operators had him sent back. About once a month until they reach the age peak, the cadets get testing done to make sure they’re developing properly. It’s mostly routine blood work, but this time it was different. Dr. An wanted to,” he pauses, furrowing his brow. “I don’t know what she was trying to do, exactly. Some sort of experimental psychological suppressant that the scientists cooked up in one of their labs. They needed someone to test it on and figured that one of the cadets would be _suitable_.” He spits, feeling white-hot anger pooling in his gut. “Kane found out he was selected for it. He didn’t particularly take to the idea of being a lab rat and did everything he could to get out of it.”

After a moment, Colt looks up into Ti’s eyes, his own burning with fury. “They _tranq’d_ him and took him to the reconditioning wing, and by the time anyone found out what happened to him, it was too late. The ‘ _verbal threat_ ’ that Dr. An mentioned in her report was just Kane refusing to be manhandled and stuck up with needles. He was trying to save his own skin.”

Pain floods Ti’s face, and it takes her several moments before she can find words. Sorrow replaced by confusion, she begins again. “That doesn’t explain his skills, commander.” She says slowly. “I have never seen any cadet fight with such precision. Veteran troopers, even ARCs, maybe, but unless he’s been given specialized training that I wasn’t aware of…” She trails off.

“Now that you mention it, yeah,” Colt mutters. “I reviewed his file, sir. The kid was smart before, his marks and test scores prove it, but not like this. The reconditioning process is supposed to wipe the slate _clean_ , general, but now it’s almost like,”

“Like he’s an entirely different person.” Ti finishes half to herself. Colt swallows thickly. “Thank you for coming to see me, Colt. You’ve given me much to think about. I wish to speak with Kane, if you would do me the favour of sending someone to find him.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll do it myself.” The commander replies, taking this as his cue for departure and grabs his helmet as he rises.

“Oh, and Colt?” Ti calls, as the man gets to the door and is about to leave. He turns to face her. “I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make sure that something like this _never_ happens again.”

“I know, Master Ti. Thank you.”

* * *

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Jango asks, waiting in the open doorway of Shaak Ti’s personal quarters, snapping to a salute. Behind him, Kane hides, poorly masking his awe of being in the presence of a Jedi.

Ti sits in the same position as she had been when Colt had left, eyes closed and sitting with a relaxed posture. “Yes. Have a seat, trooper.” Jango levels his breathing, making sure not to give the Jedi master any reason for suspicion. Though, part of him knows it’s pointless. When he sits down, a breath of silence passes before the Togrutan woman shatters it. “Am I wrong in believing you are not who you say you are?”

“What makes you say that, sir?” Jango tests, watching Ti closely. A knowing smile shows on her face for a brief moment. She opens her eyes.

“Because your force signature is that of someone who has experienced a lifetime of _suffering_ _,_ which you cannot hide from me. You hold a deep-rooted grudge for the Jedi that follows you like a,” she pauses, gaze slowly wandering to the cadet beside Jango. “...ghost.”

 _“You can see me?”_ Kane blurts excitedly, eyes suddenly swarming with translucent tears that threaten to pool over his cheeks.

“Of course,” Ti states nonchalantly. “I saw you when you exited the lift on the simulation grounds. Though the question persists,” she halts, returning to Jango. “If _he_ is the real Kane, then who are _you_?”

“Someone who really doesn’t like Jedi, _sir_ ,” Jango states tartly, earning an aghast smack to the arm from the cadet beside him. Shaak ignores this.

“You can touch him?” She ponders, completely disregarding the comment whilst outstretching a hand toward Kane. Understanding what she is trying to do, the boy slowly reaches with one finger to touch her palm, pulling back with a hiss when he is met with a shock of electricity. “Oh, this is interesting,” Ti mutters, completely disregarding Jango’s blatant glare as she reverts her attention to him. “And how long have you two been like this?”

Jango doesn’t respond for a heated second. “Two days.”

“What about the reconditioning?”

“You mean the reconditioning that you let happen?” Jango remarks. Ti’s features sadden.

“It wasn’t her fault, _di’kut_.” Kane bites.

A heavy stillness settles. Shaak sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Jango purses his lips, and reluctantly, he starts anew. “Do you have any idea how this,” he gestures between himself and Kane. “could happen?”

“Assuming you are two separate entities? No.”

“Separate? Of course we’re separate, what are you talking about?”

“Not dual personalities. If you were, maybe it might have been possible for one persona to completely reject another and take control. But that seems… unlikely, in your circumstance. One of you is _much_ older than the other. Older than the body itself.” Kane clenches his hands tightly around the thick cloth of his uniform. The Jedi looks between them calculatingly. “You’re brothers, are you not?” Jango gives a small nod, going with it. “And there is more that you are not telling me, that you _won’t_ even if I give a direct order?” She continues, gentle amusement lacing her tone.

“I died in the stasis chamber. Then _he_ woke up in _me_.” Kane mumbles.

“When did you die?” Ti asks Jango.

The man pushes down the swell of panic climbing up his throat and clears it before speaking. “I, uh-… six months ago.”

“Geonosis?” Shaak clarifies. Jango nods again. “Well. That does indeed complicate things. However, your skills are far beyond that of a newly minted trooper. Until the force _reveals_ what cannot be seen… it would do for you and your squad to be directly situated within a battalion.”

“…Why?” Jango asks, growing skeptical.

“Because I cannot make you an ARC until you’ve completed a campaign, _Kane_ ,” Ti responds, choosing not to heed the elated expression that lit up on the younger cadet’s face.

“I don’t understand,” Jango mutters. Shaak smiles.

“You were undoubtedly a very talented soldier in your past life, trooper. What you accomplished during the final test proves it, though I’m sure you did your best to stay under the radar.”

“I don’t trust the Kaminoans.”

“Neither do I.” Ti agrees. “I think you would do well with the 501st. A soldier of your abilities will fit in rather well. I shall have General Skywalker make the necessary accommodations. I hope you won’t find it impertinent to say that I need to keep an eye on you?”

Taken aback, Jango repeats the name. “ _Skywalker_?”

 _Oh no_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/16/20 ]
> 
> i was listening to the mandalorian soundtrack while writing this and "a thousand tears" remains superior to any other song. the fuckin. drums and flutes and shit make me go fucking feral every time


	4. Chapter Three: "Glory"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kote Vhett has left a scar that can't be healed.

_**45BBY, 13 years earlier** _

_Jango’s hands tremble around the handle of the vibroblade,_ _an_ _d just this once, he’s thankful for the weapon’s quivering intensity that masks his anxiousness. Across him, circling like a predator ready to pounce on its prey, is his brother who stands watchful with a crazed gleam twinkling in his amber eyes. Kote smiles at him then, teeth bared and glinting in the beam of light that shines down on the sparring circle overhead. They’re covered in blood. Somewhere on the ground lies his missing incisor, but he pays no mind when the soft crunch of bone crumbling under his boot intrudes the silence formerly broken only by laboured breathing and quiet murmurs from gathered onlookers. Jango grins back, curling his fingers ever tighter around the blade’s handle and lunges, countered by his brother’s parry and a swift blow to the side._

_He stumbles yet regains his stance before Kote has a chance to act on it and spins, dropping low and outstretching a leg that catches the older teen in the ankles and sends him falling on his back with a grunt. He rolls and rises in a smooth, graceful movement and draws away, out of Jango’s range._

_“That’s good,_ _vod_ _.” He affirms, almost tauntingly, and spits blood onto the floor. “But you could do better.”_

_“You’re right,_ vod _,” Jango responds snidely, reversing his grip on the blade. Kote makes a move, rushes toward him and beats back Jango’s counterattacks with ease. Finally deciding that he’s had enough, Jango jumps and tackles the teen to the floor, pulls him into a chokehold and wraps the leg that isn’t trapped beneath Kote’s body around the older’s free arm. He tightens his grip, hovering the vibroblade’s sharpened edge against his brother’s tanned skin. “Yield.” Kote writhes for a moment, struggling to free himself, but eventually gives in. Boisterous cheers erupt through the concourse of Mandalorians who had come to watch the fight. Jango is the first to his feet and offers a hand to Kote, who clasps his own around his brother’s wrist and lets himself be pulled off the ground._

 _“I think,” he breathes, catching the canteen of water that someone had tossed to him. “If you keep at this, you might even be able to beat our father. One day._ Maybe _.” He teases._

 _“If_ you _keep at this, you’re not gonna have any more_ teeth _, mate.” Jango retorts, throwing an arm across Kote’s shoulders as the two walk off the sparring mat in unison._

 _“Yeah,_ very funny _. You’re payin’ for the implant.”_

_“You should just leave it like that.” Jango laughs, taking the canteen when it’s passed to him. “Makes you look like one of those Arkovian fire wrestlers.”_

_“Careful, I can give you one to match.” Kote threatens, letting out a hoarse chuckle as his brother shoves him playfully to the side. They clash back together, neither wanting to completely let go. Both, blissfully ignorant of what is to come._

* * *

Jango has to pretend that he’s surprised when the order comes through to Tango Squad that they’ll be situated within the 501st Battalion, at the recommendation of Shaak Ti _herself_. Scud is nearly vibrating with a rookie’s unbridled excitement, Wick is doing his best to remain composed— _or as if he doesn’t care, which Jango can’t help but admire_ _—_ but it’s a useless feat at the fault of the wide grin splitting his face that betrays him.

“I can’t believe it.” Deke breathes, staring in enraptured awe at the datapad clutched in her slightly trembling hands. It displays the same recruitment notice that the rest of her batchmates received, the 501st’s crest catching her eye. _Deployment_.

For Jango, this means a new nightmare. If Skywalker is even _half_ of the brash, reckless, _annoying_ padawan that he encountered on Geonosis… he doesn’t finish the thought. He’s leaning disinterestedly against the row of lockers beneath the sleeping capsules and Kane sits cross-legged at his feet, resting his back against Jango’s legs while he watches his _vod’e_ chatter elatedly.

“I can’t believe we’re actually gonna meet _the_ Captain Rex.” 5772 says, loudly kicking their locker closed after packing up their cadet uniform for the last time. The group, minus the ghost that lingers beside Jango, is fully clad in flawless white armour. It nearly makes up for the beskar that came to be like Jango’s second skin, but he’s not too sure about the plastoid’s integrity. It and the sealed body glove will protect a trooper from most blunt forces, but a blaster bolt will take a life with ease.

 _A cost of war,_ he reminds himself. “Captain Rex?” He interjects, and 57 turns to him with a brief flash of confusion before they remember.

“Oh, right. He’s-”

“One of the GAR’s _finest_ ARC soldiers.” Scud interrupts, gleaming. “Kriff, he’s _wizard_.”

Deke grimaces at the choice of words. “You’re such a dink.”

“Shut up, I’m right.” Scud retorts, returning to Jango. “He’s got a rep, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, well, he’s no Commander Cody.” Wick counters matter-of-factly, to which Scud nods reluctantly in agreement. Jango stiffens.

“Cody?”

“He’s actually _Kote_ but it got,” Wick answers, expression suddenly twisting sour.

“Anglicized?”

“The long-necks don’t like it when we speak Mando’a.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Jango remarks. Wick shuffles. “Sorry,” he apologizes, raising an arm to awkwardly rub his nape.

“Let’s go get some grub, yeah?” 5772 interrupts, breaking the uncomfortable tension and moves to pull Kane— _Jango_ _—_ along with them. “Anyway, Commander Cody apparently got named by Fett himself. Or, it’s _rumoured_ , at least.”

At that, Scud lets out a snicker. “Y’know, _I_ could just name you.”

“Yeah, and I’d end up with _crate_ or something stupid like that.” 57 retorts.

“ _Can we talk_?” Kane whispers, amid the bickering, and crawls up from his place on the floor to Jango’s side. The man gives a small nod in response and allows himself to dragged away by the cadet’s batchers, making an excuse to go to the refresher and promising to catch up. Instead of walking to the shower-rooms, Kane pushes Jango into an empty supply closet once Tango had disappeared around a corner. “I’ve been thinking.” The cadet begins but hesitates.

“I see that.” Jango acknowledges, quirking a brow. “What is it?”

“General Ti can see me, right?”

Jango deadpans. “Yes?”

“So General Skywalker can, too.” Jango stiffens as he starts to realize what Kane means. “I’m saying- look, if the general knew you… _before_ , and he sees me? Jedi can sense ‘ _force signatures_ ’ or whatever it is that General Ti told us about.”

“Then I’ll have Skywalker cornering me,” Jango states flatly. Kane chews his lip. “That’s just... wonderful.”

“And our transport leaves early tomorrow morning. I don’t think we’ll have enough time to talk with the General again before we go.”

“ _Kark_.”

“Yeah,” Kane mumbles. “Though, if I stay out of sight-“

“I can’t imagine that’s going to be easy in an active war zone, kid,” Jango replies, sighing and letting his head fall to rest back against the wall. Kane looks down at his hands, and a beat of silence passes before he opens his mouth.

“Did you really name the commander?”

Softening slightly, Jango makes an affirming sound. “I helped to name the first couple of hundred. Passed the time.” Kane looks up, shocked. Jango swallows thickly and continues. “Kote was my brother’s name. _Cody_ _—_ as you call him, was one of the first. He’s… a good kid.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother?” Kane mutters. Jango peers at him, searching. A quiet voice in the back of his head reminds Jango that Kane will always be a cadet. A _teenager_. He forces himself to push it away.

“Most people didn’t. I had two. But… they’re gone now.”

“ _Ni ceta_.”

“ _Wer’cuy,_ _adiik_.”

Kane gives him a pointed look. “That doesn’t mean anything.” Sighing again, Jango moves to open the supply closet, but a firm, _cold_ hand clamping down on his shoulder halts the movement. The sudden hardness in his features takes Jango by surprise. “I need you to train them, sir. You need to train my squad. Or they’ll die out there.”

“What makes you so sure?” Jango prods. “You were fine before I came along. All of you were fine.”

“Yeah, and me being _fine_ really got me killed, didn’t it?” Kane retorts. “Ever since you died those _bounty hunters_ took your place. But it's not good enough. There’s a reason why the commanders like Cody and Wolffe are the best, and it’s because of _you_. Without you, the Republic has been sending us out there to die with _chance_ being the only thing keeping us alive.”

“I can’t change luck, kid,” Jango mutters. “I’m you, remember? We,” he pauses, gesturing between himself and Kane. “Are the same person now. I’m _one man_. I can’t train an entire army when I’m supposed to be _dead_.”

Kane purses his lips. “…No, but you can train my squad.”

Contemplating for a moment, Jango slowly nods his head. “Alright. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to play off you _suddenly_ being an expert in close-quarters combat techniques. Those skills take years of practice to perfect.”

The cadet lets out a laugh at this. “I’m not saying you need to turn them into cold hard killers, _vod_. They just need a little push, that’s all. Besides, 57 can already rip apart battle droids with their hands if they’re mad enough, so I don’t think showing my batch a thing or two they don’t know is going to blow our cover.”

Jango hums. “I think it’s already blown, kid.”

Kane sombers. “Seriously, what _are_ we gonna do about General Skywalker?”

“ _We_ are doing nothing,” the man reiterates. “If Ti decides to spill our little secret to her council, worrying about Skywalker will be the last of our concerns. It’s bad enough that one Jedi knows, and if— _osik_. If Kenobi finds out?”

“What’s wrong with General Kenobi?” Kane accuses, brows knitting together in confusion. Jango darkens.

“Let’s just say that the good general and I have an _unpleasant_ history.”

Kane blinks. “You mean you tried to kill each other.”

“Details, kid,” Jango says and brushes off the comment. Silence settles, then, and the two stare at each other with unreadable expressions. Finally, Jango heaves a deep breath. “ _Me’bana,_ _ad’ika_. You’re not telling me something.”

For a moment, Kane appears unsure, but he shakes it away and opens his mouth to speak at last. “Do you…” he pauses and restarts. “Do you think that the force did this to us? I head the _ori’vode_ talk about it, and,” he breaks.

“I don’t know, Kane,” Jango replies, quietly. “I’m honest when I say I don’t know anything about it. I know it exists, but my people don’t exactly have the best relations with force wielders. _Especially_ Jedi.”

Kane huffs. “You keep saying that.”

“It’s not a story that’s easy to tell, kid,” he responds truthfully. “Look, even if the force _does_ have something to do with this, _us_ , it’s not like we can do anything about it. We’re not Jedi. We can’t…” he trails, as words escape him. He lifts an arm to open the supply closet’s door. “C’mon. I’m getting claustrophobic in here.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/17/20 ]
> 
> this chapter was originally supposed to be longer, but i thought that the first half didn't really fit well with the rest of the chapter, so i split it to make sure that the plot point wouldn't get muddled or overshadowed. it's also been two weeks since my last update oops!! i just wanna say tysm for your lovely comments on the last chapters, i love your inputs so much!! it's so encouraging to know that others are invested in my story :> this is really only a half chapter, much shorter than the rest, but that also means that chapter four is half done and on its way soon! 
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> ni ceta — i'm sorry  
> wer-cuy — it was a long time ago  
> me'bana — what is it/what's wrong/what's up  
> ad'ika — kid, term of endearment  
> adiik — child, kid, boy


	5. Chapter Four: "Sighted In"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scud gets some character development, and a certain cynical 28yo *deceased* Mando finally admits to himself that these squirts are growing on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for breif mention of suicidal thoughts and implications of physical abuse! Skip the Italicized section in the beginning if you want to avoid this.

** Kamino, 4 years earlier **

“K’olar!” _Fett yells. CT-2224 flinches, yet doesn’t dare to turn and face the man who approaches. Hail thunders down on the platform and CT-2224’s_ _cadet_ _armour in an ear-splitting cacophony. The wind is whistling, and everything is so loud that it hurts but for the life of him he can’t bring himself to go inside._ _Not now_ _. He knows the_ Kaminiise _sent Fett out after him, not wanting_ _—_ _not_ trusting _the clones to bring him back. They know he’s trying to leave. CT-2224 doesn’t know if he’s trying to leave. He doesn’t know if he’s going to steal a ship, or if he’ll make a break for the platform’s edge and throw himself into the water below._

The impact alone will kill you, _they said_. No one will find your body.

 _Fett’s gaining on him now. He knows the man can catch him, and could have caught him by now if he was trying, but he isn’t._ Why _isn’t he? CT-2224 can hear footsteps behind him. He’s at the edge now, and all it would take is a gust of wind._ Or a push. _It would be so_ easy _to just..._

 _“Who do you think you’re fooling,_ verd’ika _?” Fett demands._

 _CT-2224 hates that he can’t stop his hands from shaking. He’s trembling so violently, and all he sees is red, the only thing he can feel is_ hate _and it_ burns. _He revels and_ crumbles _in it, it’s devouring him, cutting off his air supply until his vision blurs and his mind fogs_ _—_ _he_ wants _to scream. He can’t manage a response, nor the strength to fight when Fett grabs him by the shoulders and throws him on the ground,_ away _from the platform’s ledge. CT-2224 can’t even manage fear when the realization hits that Fett is going to kill him, all he can do is close his eyes and hope for a quick death. But it doesn’t come. Fett’s crouched in front of him. The beskar glints in the cold beams of the outdoor lighting, and for a moment CT-2224 can see an outline of the man’s face through the visor. He doesn’t speak. His lip trembles, and he’s thankful for the helmet that shrouds his face so the Mandalorian can’t see the tears streaking down his cheeks._

_“I can’t stop you, kid. You stay out here, you die. You go in there...” Fett breaks, lifting a hand from his knee to point at the facility behind CT-2224. “They’ll make you wish you’ve never been born.”_

_“They’ve already done that!” CT-2224 screams._

“Let me help you.” _Fett states. It isn’t a plea. It’s an_ order. _When he doesn’t get a reply, the man continues. “They gave me your number, not a name.”_

 _“We don’t have names.” CT-2224 quips. “We’re_ numbers. _Property. Canon-fodder. That’s all we are_. That’s all I am. _I’m nothing. I have no purpose other than to_ die.”

“No.” _Fett barks. “You are_ Vhett. _You,” he breaks, and moves closer to press a finger against the cadet’s chest plate. “Are the future of_ Manda’yaim _._ _You and your_ vod’e _will return_ glory _to our people, or so help me I will raise the Core to the ground._ Do you understand?”

* * *

**Transport shuttle** _**R-6X**_ **en route to the _Resolute_ , 22BBY**

Kane is blue. _Literally_.

Jango watches half-amused and entirely _exhausted_ as the sapphire-shaded apparition of his host entertains himself by poking one of his _vod’e_ in the neck, which plagues the tormented clone into shivers and leaves him to curse complaints under his breath.

Eventually, the cadet grows tired of this and resorts to pacing between the rows of seated recruits. They’re inside a troop transport, being shipped through hyperspace toward Coruscant where the 501st, aboard General Skywalker’s command ship, awaits. Jango sighs and sticks out a leg in a well-disguised stretch and sends Kane toppling to the floor with a yelp. The man has to bite down on his lip to keep from barking out a laugh when a vehement glare meets him in return.

 _Not entirely invincible, then_ Jango muses. He smiles cruelly under his helmet. Kane continues to scowl— but it looks more like a childish pout as he slinks up against the ship’s wall and pulls his knees to his chest. A sudden lurch announces the transport’s departure from hyperspace and rudely awakes any clone who was still sleeping. Jango can’t help to find it endearing as Scud, heavier and several inches taller than the majority of his siblings, reluctantly lifts his head from Jango’s shoulder and rubs a pang in his neck. He’d earned his reputation as a demolitionist during his training, thus his name, after his favourite subclass of missile. However, the streak of dried spit that he just wiped from his cheek says something else about his innocence. Jango swallows the swell of discomfort that starts to pool, knowing that his said _innocence_ won’t last long. _It never does_.

“Are you done moping over there?” He speaks to Kane’s former victim, who responds with a crude gesture that’s followed by a round of chuckles from the surrounding rookies, but the culprit knows the words are directed at him. Kane grumbles a string of colourful swear-words before he answers.

“Are you done tripping me?” Knowing Jango can’t reply— at least without sounding out of his mind for talking to himself, he continues. Kane’s face falls, further past disgruntled boredom into something sullen and serious. It’s enough to stir concern within Jango, and, his features show it as well, because when Kane looks at him again the expression is wiped clean and masked with an uncharacteristic intensity. “I forgot to tell you, but I took a specialist course before they… wiped me. I hope you know how to use a sniper rifle,” Jango turns his head to face Kane, finally, and gives a small nod. None of the others take notice. “…Good.” He finishes. Jango isn’t convinced that’s all the cadet wants to say, but whatever else there is, it’s going to have to wait.

The pilot’s voice cracks through the speakers to announce the ETA for docking with the _Resolute_.

“ _I remember when_ I _was a shiny_.” The copilot adds.

“Shut up an’ don’t scare ‘em with your hazing stories, Hyde.” The pilot interjects, distinctly more hoarse as if he’s been punched in the throat. He lets out a raspy chuckle and the speaker switches to white noise, and then silence. Kane’s expression is hard. He makes eye contact with Jango one last time before the transport docks.

 _Fear_ , Jango notes. _That’s_ fear. _But why?_

* * *

Captain Rex, as it turns out, reminds Jango a lot of himself. Save for the closely-shaved blond hair and the fact that he’s all but _glued_ to Skywalker’s right-hand side, he radiates an air of confidence and control but not in a way that makes him arrogant, and the twinkle in his eye betrays his stony exterior. Skywalker, on the other hand, is another story. The Jedi has indeed grown up since Geonosis— by almost a foot. His padawan braid has been lobbed off and the rest has grown into a half-curly shag of dark-blond hair, and a long scar crawls down the right side of his profile from just above his eyebrow to his cheekbone. He looks mature, there’s no doubt about that, but Jango knows from experience that Anakin Skywalker has no shortage of deception up his sleeves. _That, and a prosthetic hand?_ He does his best not to stand out and remain inconspicuous as he descends the transport’s platform with the rest of the recruits. Six cadet squads, a total of thirty fresh faces. Physically eighteen, but Jango knows better. Jango _knows_ , and a creeping feeling dawns on him that what he knows will one day get him killed.

 _Again_.

The group salutes, and so does Jango. He slips into a routine that he thought was long since forgotten- shoulders back, chin level, eyes ahead… Skywalker passes by him, and Jango’s heart leaps into his throat when the Jedi hesitates and his gaze narrows, flicking to the floor for a fraction of a second as if he’d _felt something_. Jango forces his emotions away into a blank slate. _Don’t let him in_. He repeats the mantra until Skywalker moves on, shaking his head as if to shake away whatever had come over him. He goes on to prattle a brief speech to the gathered rookies a few minutes later, then lets his Captain take over with the rest of the induction ceremony.

By the end of it, Jango’s feet ache from standing, more so his mind from attempting to keep his _distaste_ for Kenobi’s former padawan at bay, and Rex releases the recruits to their new squad leaders and the older clones, who readily await their chance to chide the shinies just because they can. Jango isn’t fazed by it, although it takes him a moment to recollect his own awareness so he can seek out Kane’s batchmates. Most of them are mingling with the other clones— except Scud. _Scud_ , who hangs off to the side, very blatantly uncomfortable and itching to get away. Jango presses his mouth together into a firm line and stalks forward, foregoing the notion of _‘you’re a rookie, Jango, act like it!'_ to grab the clone and drag him away.

“What are you doing?” Scud blurts, alarmed.

“We’re gonna go find the range. You and me. _You_ don’t like crowds.” He states flatly, and Scud ceases to resist.

“Is it that obvious?”

The sudden change to vulnerability startles Jango. He manages a shrug. “Not really, no.” A near truth. Anyone who looks can spot a claustrophobe from a mile away, and it’s much easier when said claustrophobe is almost a head taller than everyone else. But no one is looking. This consequently makes it significantly less hard for Jango and Scud to slip away from the inductees and seasoned 501st troopers unnoticed and make for the _Resolute’s_ firing range with relative ease. It only took a few wrong turns and a run-in with a rather _rude_ R2-unit to find it, and once there, the two waste no time in borrowing _(Jango insists that breaking into the firing range’s weapons depot is_ borrowing _and definitely_ not _stealing)_ their preferred weapons.

For Jango, the sleek black DC-15x sniper rifle immediately catches his eye, and in his defence, it practically _begs_ to be taken. _Maybe he’s a_ slight _kleptomaniac, but it’s not like it’s a problem_. Scud lugs a G7 from the depot with a small smile.

“You really like that thing, huh?” Jango chuckles, as he sights in the rifle’s scope.

“Yup.” Scud replies, popping the ‘ _p_ ’. “She gets me. Big, ugly, packs a helluva punch.” He gleams. Jango snorts.

“If you’re ugly, what does that say about me?”

“You’re kriffin’ _hideous_ , Kane.” Come’s his reply, which draws another laugh.

A beat of silence passes until Jango speaks again, once he slings the rifle over his shoulder. “How do you know so much about weapons and ordinance, anyway? I don’t remember Kamino offering ballistics specialist training to cadets.”

Scud scrunches his nose. “No. Can’t do classwork. The words just,” he stops short, and his eyebrows furrow. “I can’t make sense of it. All I do is just tear these girls apart and put ‘em back together until I can do it with my eyes closed. Got me in trouble a lot when the long-necks kept finding my stash of blaster parts.”

“Trouble… how?” Jango tries, but quickly apologizes when he sees Scud’s expression twist.

“No, it’s fine. They— the Kaminoans, I mean, they kept trying to prove to our platoon sergeant that I was defective. I guess they think that because I was failing my classwork that it’d make me a bad soldier. I’m not— _look,_ ” He stops, and sets down the rotary blaster with a heavy metallic _thud_. “I’m not smart. And I ain’t saying that because I, I don’t know, hate myself, or something, it’s just true. I suck at reading, and numbers just _don’t make sense_. But this? Fighting? _That’s_ what I’m good at. I’m good at _fixing_ things and _breaking_ things, but other than that, If I can’t do anything else, the Kaminoans think I should just be tossed into the karking _scrap_ _pile_. And then they went and did _that_ to _you_ , and _I_ got mad, and then _they_ got mad at _me_ for being _‘aggressive’,_ ” his mouth suddenly clamps shut, realizing that he’s let on more than he intended. Jango takes hesitant a step forward.

“Did the Kaminoans do something to you?”

Scud’s jaw tightens. “It’s nothing.”

“Clearly it isn’t.” Jango presses. Scud’s shoulders sag, but he doesn’t speak again. “You slept with your pod open at night back in the barracks, you couldn’t stop _fidgeting_ the entire trip here. It’s not nothing, so _tell_ me.”

“They took you when I was asleep.” Scud relents, and his voice is barely above cracking to a whisper. “I woke up, and you weren’t there. I didn’t think that I’d ever see you again, and they wouldn’t tell me what they did to you. I… flipped out. So they stuck me in solitary until you came back,” he finishes.

“Does anyone else know?” Jango asks, quietly. Scud shakes his head.

“Didn’t want to worry them.”

“ _Scud_.” Jango berates gently, to which the other rolls his eyes.

“Don’t _Scud_ me. You weren’t exactly perfect, either. You broke your hand when we were in the Youth Brigade and didn’t tell anyone for a _week_.”

“That’s... different,” he retorts, offhandedly making a mental note to confront Kane about the sheer number of details he’d left out in the account of his short-lived years on Kamino.

“How the hell is that different? We’re not made to talk about our _problems_. We shouldn’t even _have_ problems.”

“Feelings aren’t _problems_ , kid. Your emotions are all that separates you from being nothing but a mindless droid. You’re not livestock, you’re a _person. They_ are going to try and take that from you, but you can’t let it happen. You have to let go of what’s eating you up or you’ll end up _dead_.” Jango admonishes, and Scud’s mouth clamps shut. Thinking he’s crossed a line, Jango physically takes a step back, but the defeated look that washes over the recruit’s face snaps something inside the man. He takes the rifle off his shoulder and leans it up against the wall before moving forward to wrap his gloved hands around Scud’s forearms. “ _Tion’ad hukaat’kama, vod?_ ”

Scud tilts his head to the side with a bitter, reminiscent smile. “You did.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

The clone’s fingers slowly curl around Jango’s arms. They stand there for a few moments before letting go, and Scud clears his throat. “Can we shoot stuff now?”

Jango barks out a laugh at his bluntness. “Yeah, c’mon. I’ll teach you how to snipe.”

* * *

Almost an hour goes by before anyone finds them, and by the time that someone finally wanders into the firing range, Jango has gone through two simulation levels and Scud has returned to his methodical system of picking apart the G7 into a pile of polished metal and miniature screws, bolts, and wires. He’s halfway through fitting them back together when the sound of footsteps coming from behind startles him and he lets out a squawk in surprise, which startles Jango into firing too early and causes him to miss his target.

Scud looks up and stammers out “Captain, sir!”, prompting Jango to scramble to his feet and salute. Rex, holding his helmet under one arm, quirks a brow and looks down at the heap of blaster parts.

“What do you have there?”

“Uh,” Scud hums, and follows the captain’s glance. “Stuff.”

“I see that.” He responds, flatly. He shifts his attention to Jango, and then the rifle in his hand. “You two disappeared.” He states.

“You did dismiss us, sir.” Jango returns evenly.

Rex nods, after a pause. “That I did. You’ve both been in hyperspace for over twelve hours, you should go get some grub in you and rack up. But,” he pauses, and gestures to the dismantled rotary with an amused smile. “You might wanna finish that. Ged might have something to say if he finds out he’s gotta carry a bag of loose bolts onto the field.”

Scud straightens. “Are we being deployed, sir?”

“We’re headed to Christophsis once the fleet’s refuelled and stocked, and It’ll take a few days to get there.” Rex replies, giving Jango a curious look before continuing. “Your new squad leader was lookin’ for you, and I was already on my way by. The general’s astromech reported seeing two…”

“That _bucket_ is General Skywalker’s?” Jango interrupts dryly. “It ran over my foot and called me a dolt for getting in its way.”

Rex winces. “Yeah, that’s Artoo.”

“Do you know who our squad leader is, sir?” Scud asks. He’s returned to sitting splayed out on the ground to continue putting the rotary back together. “We didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

“Sergeant Slick. Your platoon’s barracks are on C-deck.” Rex answers. At the mention of that name, an odd twinging sensation makes Jango’s skin crawl. “Sorry, I didn’t ask your names…?”

“Scud.” The rookie says, and doesn’t lift his gaze. He’s hunched over the rotary’s barrels, twisting on a washer with his fingers, which are now streaked with lubricant, and his gloves lay discarded on his thigh. “That’s Kane.” He adds, and cocks his head in Jango’s direction.

Rex chuckles softly. “Alright. Finish up here and go get some rest, okay? You’ll need it.” With that, he turns to leave, but Kane— the _real_ Kane, who Jango hadn’t noticed until Rex walked straight through him, lingered. The cadet shudders.

“ _Okay, I_ really _didn’t need to know what that felt like_.” He mutters, and trudges over to sit beside Scud. He looks up. “Don’t just stand there, _vod_.” Kane orders, with a teasing grin. Jango rolls his eyes.

With one final click, Scud snaps the exterior plating onto the rotary and lets out a satisfied noise. “Done?” Jango asks, and Scud nods. “Good. Let’s go find the mess. Deke’ll have my neck for running off without telling her again.” He adds, and ejects the energy magazine from his rifle. As Scud moves away to return the reassembled G7 to the range’s depot, Jango hangs back. “ _Where were you?_ ” He whispers. Kane stands.

“Walking around.” He blinks when Jango stares at him, dumbfounded. “What? This is a Venator-class star-destroyer, and I can walk through walls. If you can break into the karking armoury, I think doing a little snooping isn’t above my pay grade.”

“You’re not being paid to be dead, kid. You weren’t even paid from the start.” Jango grunts, and returns the DC-15x to its rack.

Scud waits at the door. “You coming or what?” He demands, earning a crude gesture.

“Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to make friends.” Kane taunts, earning a swift kick to the shin as Jango passes by. He snickers and jogs ahead to catch up, and follows the two troopers into the _Resolute’s_ corridors.

* * *

The next few days fly by in a blur, and the tension among the 501st grows stifling to the point that Jango himself can’t blame Scud for keeping to the outer circles of troopers in gatherings. Sergeant Slick hasn’t proved himself to be anything other than normal, but every time Jango is in the same room as him he feels an irrevocable sense of dread trailing behind him as if it’s ready to lodge a knife into his back. He’s on edge, and for good reason it seems, because with every hour that passes Christophsis gets closer.

Jango spends as much time as he can with Kane’s batchmates sparring and in the firing range, lightly correcting whatever slip-ups and bad habits he can by way of suggestions and mere demonstration through hits and parries during hand-to-hand exercises.

At one point, one particular spar against 5772— _who, even with_ _their_ _insistence on reminding everyone on the oath of protection that_ _they_ _swore as a newly-minted medical-technician, didn’t hesitate to punch Jango in the mouth_ _—_ gained the attention of a cluster of surrounding 501st veterans, which eventually led to the Captain starting a betting circle on who would win.

Wick shouted a line of Mando’a from the sidelines when Jango landed a kick to 57’s rib cage. A dirty blow, but for the split lip and blood coating the inside of his mouth, all he saw in front of him was Kote— for the first time in the entire week that he’d spent in his new body, he noticed that 57, Kane, Scud- _every clone_ including himself shares the same toothy, shark-like grin in the heat of the moment as his brother did. Only for a few minutes did he allow 57 to gain the upper hand. But then they accidentally threw a weak punch, and Jango took the opportunity to grab their arm and flip them over his shoulder onto the mat. Winded, yet still grinning that same smile that made Jango’s heart _ache_ a forgotten pain, they relented, and let the man pull them to their feet amid the din of cheering soldiers. Reluctantly a trooper standing beside Rex rifled through a pocket on his belt and slapped a wad of credits into the captain’s hand without ceremony.

Jango finally realizes, in moments like those, how much he truly _hates_ war. And that if not for the war that has claimed so many lives already, would he be a father? Would the Jedi just let the clones rot on Kamino, or would they be set free? _Freedom_ , Jango thinks with another wave of bitterness, _freedom is a luxury few can afford_. There is also freedom in death, he supposes, but how has that worked out for him? He hopes, though part of it is devoid of any true sincerity— _because his own history has taught him that hope is a foolish, heartbreaking_ _lie_ _—_ that Christophsis won’t be the downfall of the _vod’e_ he’s come to know. _His_ _vod’e_. He’s accepted that, now. Even though a fraction of him knows it doesn’t make a difference, not with death looming around the corner.

Jango hopes, despite himself. He hopes he isn’t going die. He hopes he won’t have to leave Kane alone. He hopes he’ll see Kote again.

Jango hopes with every shred of his existence that his _son_ is _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20  
> edit note: scud is dyslexic, just thought i'd point that out if it wasn't clear. ]
> 
> if you can't tell i rly love rotary blasters. they just!! go brrrrrrr and i love it. i'm easy to please.
> 
> cody is roughly about 7 or 8 in the flashback, which is about the equivalent of 15-16. cody is confirmed to be ten or older at the start of the clone war, which is about 18-19. maybe even twenty, as we're not entirely sure about the clones and their relative ages.
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> k'olar - come here  
> verd'ika - private *or* little soldier (context critical)  
> vhett - lit. 'farmer', but it's also a mando'an surname.  
> kote/Kote - glory  
> manda'yaim - mandalore  
> tion'ad hukaat'kama - who has your back


	6. Chapter Five: "Verboten"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaak Ti, ceo of ignoring the Jedi Council ft. Deke and Jango's thoughts during the descent to Christophsis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The snow had melted; the dead were buried. But he couldn’t erase Jango Fett’s face, the face of a man back from the living death of a slavery that Dooku had delivered him into, etched with all the bitter lines of surviving only to have his moment of justice—“ “The Jedi had killed Fett in the end. But most of him seemed to have died at Galidraan anyway, and only his insatiable hunger for justice had kept that formidable body moving.  
> We’ll have our day, Fett.”
> 
> Verboten: (adj.) not permitted or allowed; forbidden or prohibited by or as if by authority

_**Kamino** _

Shaak doesn’t move a muscle when the shimmering holographic form of Mace Windu appears in front of her. The man’s arms are folded, and his calloused hands are tucked within the thick beige fabric of his robes. His armour glints in a beam of amber light from whichever planet that he’s on— Shaak doesn’t have to open her eyes to know there’s a frown on his face. She always told him that his face would stick like that if he kept it up, and it appears it has. Or maybe, it’s because she’s been dodging his calls— the _council’s_ calls— for the last week. In hindsight, ignoring the Master of the Order isn’t necessarily a _wise_ thing to do, but Shaak has the humility to admit she often falls short of propriety. Too often, Mace would say. She opens her eyes, finally, and meet’s her old friend’s gaze.

“My apologies for interrupting your meditation, Master Ti.” He bows, and Shaak returns the gesture. Upon closer inspection, there’s a smile twitching the corners of his mouth, even with his efforts to school it. “May I ask why you’ve intentionally missed the last three meetings?” He inquires, devoid of any humour. But Shaak knows better, and she smiles innocently.

“You may, Master Windu. However, I must correct you. I only _intentionally_ missed the first two. A new batch of clones graduated this morning, and I wanted to congratulate them.”

“For _twelve_ _hours_?”

“Perhaps if the council considered shortening the length of the meetings, I might be able to...” she pauses, and lifts a hand to pick at a cuticle. “...fit them into my schedule.”

Mace raises a brow. “Yes, indeed. I’m sure you have a _very_ busy schedule.”

Obliging his sarcasm, Shaak’s smile widens, exposing her pointed incisors. “Quite right, my dear friend. There are the cadet exams that I must oversee, and then of course I’ve taken to teaching several of the Youth Brigade’s classes, and then I _always_ insist on being present when the younglings are removed from their growth chambers for the first time, which is almost a daily occurrence,” she prattles, growing more elated with every word. Mace’s frown deepens. He utters a long-suffering sigh under his breath. “The young ones are rather interested in how a lightsaber works, and I simply cannot say no when they ask for a demonstration,”

“ _Shaak_.” Windu interrupts. Her mouth closes, but the smile hasn’t faded. “We’ve been friends for a very long time, and,”

“Are you implying that I’m _old_ , Master Windu?”

“I’m _implying_ that I know when you’re _hiding_ _something_ from me.” Mace presses.

Shaak tilts her head. Her lekku twitch with the movement. “I hide plenty of things from the council. Many things that I am not inclined to share.”

 _“I’m not asking you to share them with the council_. I’m asking you to share them with a _friend_.”

Shaak’s shoulder’s fall. She huffs, and moves her lekku behind her shoulders with a slight struggle, as one of them is tangled around her leg, before she gives in and opens her mouth to respond at last. “ _Hypothetically_ , what if I were to tell you that I encountered a force-sensitive clone that was accompanied by a ghost, and didn’t tell the council and that I also sent a letter of recommendation to the 501st Legion for their recruitment and that said force-sensitive clone harbours a very strong animosity towards Jedi and Sith alike?”

Mace blinks. “And you let them go?” Shaak purses her lips. “Hypothetically, of course.”

“Oh, of course. Yes, let’s say, hypothetically, that I let this clone be deployed with the rest of his squad and twenty-five other recruits. Without telling him of his sensitivity.”

“Does Skywalker know?”

“Not… _exactly_ , no. But Anakin is a smart boy. I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough.”

Mace nods hesitantly. He doesn’t like where this is going, but he keeps that notion to himself. “Indeed. And how did you plan on telling the council of this _hypothetical_ force-sensitive clone with a grudge against Jedi?”

“Did I mention that he is the most talented fighter I’ve seen in this academy?” Shaak adds. Her smile is gone, now, and replaced by a meek look. “I didn’t plan on it, actually.”

“ _Why_?”

“Simply because the force doesn’t want me to, Mace. Surely you understand this.” She states, simply, as if that settles all of Mace’s qualms. “It surrounds these two. The ghost, especially. He calls himself Kane, but I’m not entirely sure of the true identity of whoever inhabits his body.”

“And this… ghost, you say. How old is he?”

“Nine years, six months, twenty… three days. Nearly physically eighteen, I’d say.”

Mace sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not all, is it?”

“He was reconditioned before he died. It happened while I was returning from the senate. And the living clone… well, he’s not a clone at all. I sense that he has suffered a great tragedy in his past lifetime, one that led toward a biased hatred toward force-users. _Mace_ ,” she pauses, and looks the man in the eye. He’s alarmed by the sudden burst of sadness flowing through the force. “The dark side wishes to corrupt him. I’ve felt it, and it’s horribly strong. But the force has made it clear, more clear than anything I have ever felt in my life, that I _cannot_ intervene in his fate. That _we_ cannot intervene.”

Mace’s brows knit together. Silence falls heavy for a few moments before he breaks it.

“Anakin and the 501st are on a senate-sanctioned deployment to Christophsis.” He hums. Shaak contemplates this.

“Do you agree that sending this clone to Skywalker was the right choice? It felt it was at the time, but now…” She trails off.

“Yes, I think it is.” Mace agrees, and the two make eye contact once more. “Is there anyone I should tell, or do we keep this between us?”

“Kenobi, maybe…” Shaak starts but shakes her head. “Now is not the time. In the future, the chance may be fitting. I’ll keep my eye on him, for the time being. I’ve spent many hours meditating on this, though I must admit it has been no benefit.”

Mace nods, slowly. “The force is clouded, Master Ti. I’m afraid that all we can do for now is wait. However, if the enemy were to find out?”

“The more this clone knows about the nature of his connection with the force, the more at risk he is. He is safest in ignorance, Mace. Until we can… figure out a way to protect him without drawing the attention of the Council, or worse, the _Kaminoans_ , staying with Skywalker is best.” Shaak sucks in a calming breath. “I have decided to return to the temple. I must consult the archives… and perhaps Master Yoda, if my research fails me. I will depart as soon as the storm breaks, though I fear this trip may prove fruitless.”

A beat passes before Mace replies. “Thank you for telling me, Shaak. We’ll discuss this further in person, but until then, may the force be with you.”

“And with you as well.” She replies softly. With that, the hologram cuts out, leaving the Togrutan Jedi to stare blankly at the wall. _The force is clouded_. Releasing her frustration, she moves to her feet and exits her quarters in search of Commander Colt.

* * *

_**Christophsis** _

Deke rocks with anticipation inside of a gunship, surrounded by her batchmates and new squad. Most of them are veterans like her sergeant, who he can’t help to admire with an embarrassing sense of awe, but her batchmates fill the holes where platoon members were lost. She feels guilty, as if being the replacement only adds to the problem. Maybe it _does_. She doesn’t know too much about the coming mission, only what the general had briefed them on and it was mostly battle formations and a vague outline of the frontal assault, which, to be honest, left her even _more_ confused than from the start when she knew nothing. But she trusts General Skywalker and her new commanding officers, even if Kane is skeptical.

 _Kane_. Deke isn’t sure what to think of him since he was reconditioned. At first, he seemed… well, like how a reconditioned clone ‘ _should_ ’ be. A clean slate. Proper. Methodical. Follows orders without question. Now? She looks over at Kane— or, at least, who he _thinks_ is Kane, because all of their armour is the same unscathed white, save for the non-shinies, whose armour has been decorated with the 501st’s signature blue, and wonders. He is different, and that’s expected. But he’s not _gone_. No, he still has a sense of humour, and sarcasm, and an odd dislike for all things related to the Jedi, yet… his humour is the thing that’s a stark contrast. It’s dry, and bitter, and there’s some sort of cynical undertow to every word that comes out of his mouth, be it a wry quip or poison-laced insult under his breath. His Mando’a is perfect, shockingly so, and Deke can’t remember _any_ clone being _that_ fluent _,_ much less someone like Kane. The older commanders, maybe, but not Kane. She worries about him, but she’s glad he’s back.

 _Is he, though_?

“Seal your _buy’ce_ and buckle your belts, shinies. It’s gonna get _real_ bumpy _real_ fast, so I’d hold on if I were you.” An older clone— Scythe, Deke remembers— interrupts her thoughts as he boards the LAAT/i. He lets go of the handle he’s clinging to and checks his seal. Scythe turns in his direction, once he slips his own helmet on and rests the barrel of his DC-15 against his shoulder. “Which one of you is our demolitionist?” You all look the same.” He jokes, and one of the _ori’vod’e_ lets out a snicker.

“That’s kind of the whole point of clone armour, Scythe.”

“Eh, shut up Leer, no one asked you. I know his name’s Scud, but, _ori’haat_ , I have no idea who’s who. Wait, are we even in the right Larta?” he mutters, voice dropping suddenly.

“No, Slick said that ours is the one with the big shiny. Y’know, this one-“ Leer chides, pointing toward Scud. “The one that looks like he could throw you across the hangar? _Gar di’kut_.”

“Prob’ly only halfway…” Scud mumbles to Kane, who chuckles quietly, but the two oldest clones don’t catch it.

“ _This_ is Scud.” Kane interrupts and gestures. Scythe blinks.

“Oh. Damn, I thought he was you. My bad. _Su’cuy!_ ” He corrects awkwardly, moving to suavely lean against the LAAT/i’s wall, but he forgets that it’s retracted and stumbles.

“Yeah, Scythe’s a bit of a karking walking _shu’shuk_ , all the time. He got one too many stacked concussions, I think.” Leer remarks, and that earns him a smack to the shoulder.

“ _Usen’ye_!” Scythe grumbles and turns back to the recruits. “Anyway, you’re all in for a real treat. This ol’ charlie-foxtrot of a plan? Well, turns out General Skywalker cooked it up last minute, and let me tell you, last-minute plans _always_ go wrong but they _always_ get the job done.”

“Way to reassure them, _vod_.” Leer says, blandly. “What this _osik_ is tryin’ to say, is that shit’s gonna hit the fan, but when it does, don’t lose your head. That’s how we here in the 501st roll. Make it up as we go along, come out on top.” He finishes. It doesn’t do much to settle Deke’s nerves. Beside her, Kane shifts.

“Alright, _gev_!” Sergeant Slick orders as he nears the idling gunship, ushering the straggling troopers from his squad onboard with a herding gesture. “Hawk, are we ready?” he calls, craning his neck upward at the open cockpit, where the pilot is already seated. He gets a thumbs-up in response. Slick enters the gunship just as its doors begin to slide shut. The silence is thick until he speaks again. “ _K’oyacyi, ner’vod’e. Traat’aliit gar besbe’trayc_. Remember that,” he barks, looking pointedly at the shinies individually. There’s no hardness in his eyes, however, but something grim lurks in his demeanour, and it makes Deke uncomfortable. No one else seems to see it, though, so the feeling is gone as soon as it arrives. “ _Oya_!” He shouts as he seals his helmet, and the others repeat it.

“Hey, Deke, if you clip more tinnies than me I’ll let you switch racks.” Leer offers, but Slick interrupts with a gruff chuckle.

“Don’t fall for it, kid. He bunks across from Slaat, so if you don’t want to know what a hibernating bantha sounds like when you’re tryin’ to sleep, I suggest you don’t take the bet. He’s been tryin’ to convince anyone he can to swap with him since we were first stationed here.”

“Awe, Slick,” Leer mock-whines. “It’s never gonna work if you keep _telling_ them.”

 _“Standby for takeoff,”_ A new voice, interrupting through the squad’s comm channel, announces. _“I’ll try not to knock you around too much this time.”_

“Hawk?” Slick asks, craning his neck around the side of the gunship to peer at the cockpit.

“ _You didn’t recognize me, Sarge?_ ” He replies with mock offence, yet utters a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. You sound like… six… million other people that I know, funnily enough.”

“ _Very funny,_ _Sarge_ _._ ”

“Head’s up, Skywalker’s riding to the ground with us.” Slick adds, nonchalantly, though effectively making the new recruits freeze up. _Especially_ Kane, Deke notices, who actually stumbles off balance. Besides _that_ , the overwhelming amount of Mando’a thrown so casually into the conversation is making her brain work overtime to translate. “Hey, don’t worry about it. As long as he’s not the one flying us down there, it’ll be fine. Loosen up, kid.”

“ _Flying us down there my_ shebs _._ ” Hawk mutters. “ _How many times did I say that doing a_ _three-sixty_ _in a karking_ Larta _is impossible? ‘_ No, Hawk, you’re doubting yourself too much _’ he says. And you say_ I’m _reckless._ ”

“I don’t sound like that!” Skywalker squawks suddenly, to which Kane lets out a muffled shout in surprise at not having noticed him creep up. _Creep would be too strong of a word_ _—_ _he tripped over a crate on his way over_ , Deke thinks, side-eyeing Kane questioningly as she stiffens to a salute with the rest of her squad. The man lets out an “At ease” and smiles lazily. She doesn’t fail to notice how the General’s eyes drift momentarily behind Kane, and his mouth opens to say something until Captain Rex cuts him off.

“Hawk has a point, sir,” he states, reaching an arm up to grab one of the handholds.

“I landed that three-sixty perfectly, Rex. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Skywalker retorts indignantly.

“You broke your hand.” Rex remarks, flatly. “You’ve only got one left, sir.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Captain, I never would have noticed,” the Jedi grumbles and tilts his head slightly to the side. It falters quickly, however, and is replaced by a serious look upon shifting his attention to the surrounding clones. “It’s gonna be hot when we break the atmosphere until the AA-canons are out. The 212th is down there as we speak, working on clearing out the flak, but we’re definitely going to have our work cut out for us,” he finishes, casting a glance at Rex.

“They don’t know we’re coming, right, sir?” Wick asks timidly. Deke tenses, and beside him, so does Kane. He hadn’t thought about that. Until now, it didn’t cross his mind to think that he could be so unlucky as to be shot out of the sky in the gunship. Himself, Kane, Wick- her batch, his squad, his _G_ _eneral_ , all could die in a split second. _And who is to say that_ _w_ _e_ _won’t?_ “I mean, mission wise, our plan is secret? Not that I doubt it…” Wick adds hastily and trails off when all eyes are on him. Skywalker nods reassuringly.

“We’ll be fine, Private. And don’t worry, we’ve got Hawk here to take us down,” he grins again.

 _“Yeah, so long as you don’t ask me to do any barrel-rolls.”_ The pilot responds snidely. _“All set, sir?”_

“Take it away, Hawk.”

* * *

To say that Jango’s heart feels like it’s going to pound a fist-shaped hole straight through his sternum is a severe understatement. He can’t breathe. Maybe that’s because he’s doing everything he can to keep his mental block up and intact from the _Jedi_ _K_ _night_ standing right in front of him, and _not_ panic, and _since when did it get so hot in here?_ He forces his breathing to even out and prays to whoever is listening that Kane isn’t doing the same thing he is— freaking out— and that he’s fallen through the wall or whatever the _haran_ it is that ghosts do to avoid being seen by prying eyes. Casually, or rather, his best attempt at being casual, Jango slowly moves an arm behind him to check. It doesn’t hit anyone, nor does it feel like it has been doused in liquid nitrogen, so he figures the kid did the right thing and hitched a ride on another gunship. Maybe he’s snapped his fingers and he’s already on the surface, Jango doesn’t know. In thinking of it, the harder he thinks about the intricacies of Kane’s _little_ _predicament_ the more confused he gets, but as of right now, he has bigger things to worry about.

Skywalker, for one, is _terrible_ at sneaking subtle glances at the clone with a rock-solid mental shield. Maybe he’s accustomed to being invasive of his soldier’s minds, or maybe when you’re a Jedi, everyone’s thoughts swirl around you like a funnel cloud and when they _don’t,_ _that’s_ when it’s easy to notice. Jango feels like he’s only digging his grave deeper, and at the same time someone is dumping all the dirt he’s thrown out back onto his head. He decides that as soon as the Larta’s doors are open he’s _running_ as far away as he can be from any Jedi. Preferably Slick, too, though he isn’t going to get his hopes up.

Wick looks like he’s hyperventilating, but he must have muted his comm to silence the sound of his own heavy breathing because he doesn’t notice when Scythe says something to him. His head is ducked, and he sways with the rocking movement as Hawk pilots their gunship through the atmosphere. 5772 nudges his arm to get his attention and motions for him to turn his comm back on, a gesture that Jango knows far too well.

It’s been a _long_ time, he realizes, since he’s been around so many armoured soldiers that share the same absentminded mannerisms as his lost _Mando’ade._ The _true_ Mandalorians. _W_ _arriors_ _._ _H_ e sees them in the _vod’e_ around him and every Mando’a word, every helmet under an arm… his gaze drifts to the Jaig eyes painted on Rex’s helmet.

Pride, he understands, is what keeps him from seeking answers. Fear is another factor, a definite, uncomfortable factor, yet reasonable. Who is he kidding? Galidraan was before Skywalker’s time. It's not like it's _his_ fault. Yet, the _Jetiise_ didn’t seem to give it a second thought when they slew his clan and his friends at the order of a criminal, and left the children alone in their broken homes with the elderly and the dead to pick through the crimson-stained snow for bodies of their loved ones. An _auretii_. The massacre of his people is a traumatic, _harrowing_ memory, but that pain has kept him alive. Living, out of spite, has kept him alive— even though part of him died at Galidraan. Part of him died with his father and brothers, and he’ll never be the same.

Never show the enemy your face. You don’t know who to trust. _That’s kind of hard when everyone looks the same_. Jango shuts out the chatter around him and focuses on shutting out _Skywalker_.

It doesn’t take as long as he thought to make it to the ground, to the 212th’s forward operating base so they can fully reinforce their lines. Jango can’t say the same for several other troop-filled gunships. Skywalker hadn’t been lying when he said the flak was heavy, but _heavy_ falls short of what actual hell-in-the-sky actually _is_. He feels bad for Hawk, but at the same time can’t muster the will to say he’d be happy to take his place piloting a several-tonne beast crammed with inexperienced rookies, a ‘dead’ Mandalorian, a Jedi General, a few seasoned soldiers and enough ordinance to blow up a skyscraper. Jango shoots a wary glance at the crates of frags and rocket-launcher munitions stacked behind him.

The blast-doors slide open, and Jango moves to rappel down a cable into the fray after Skywalker, who doesn’t hesitate to jump out- dark robes billowing in the wind and smoke behind him.

Dropping into a roll when his feet hit the ground, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt to the _head_ , he curses and slams his back up against a jagged mound of concrete obscuring the road. Chaos is one word that comes to mind. The F.O.B., or what’s _left_ of it, amid the rubble and heaps of droids and the _bodies_ that are about— is nonexistent, and _why didn’t anyone call ahead to say_ don’t _land?_ Jango glares at the burning waste of the central command station, crumpled in on itself. _I didn’t miss this_.

“Third Platoon, on me!” Rex hollers above the din of battle, beckoning the group to follow himself and Skywalker up to the front. Sighing, despite the pounding in his chest that hasn’t ceased, and most likely won’t until the battle is over _(perhaps until he’s dead)_ , he rises and rushes after the Captain.

Kane is nowhere to be seen.

There is, however, a blaring sense of danger going off in Jango’s mind for a split-second, and he almost stops dead in his tracks when he sees a flash of red hair and a blue lightsaber slashing through metal in the distance. Whoever it is, senses something amiss, and turns— causing Jango’s blood to turn cold.

 _Kenobi_.

* * *

**Kamino**

It starts to hail by the time his general finds him. _How_ , is another question, because he’s pretty sure that Tipoca City’s turbine facility is off-limits to everyone except the engineers who work there. Technically, it’s off-limits to Colt, too, and he really should _not_ have broken in. Then again, his general shouldn’t have either. _Especially_ if she’s supposed to be travelling to Coruscant at the very moment.

Instead, she’s zeroed in on him and is in the process of scaling the scaffolding that he’d climbed up onto. It’s peaceful, and the facility is relatively quiet, for once, even with the hail and lightning thundering outside. The turbines churn the reservoir water in a hypnotizing motion, and Colt has the half-desire to jump in, just to see what it would be like. Logic tells him the electrical current would kill him before the turbine has the chance to chop up his body, but if maybe if Tipoca had a _pool,_ not for marine-combat training, but for _swimming_. Rest. Leisure. Being shackled with his entire squad and thrown into a vat of freezing water in ARC training was enough to make Colt not want to touch water for ages.

Now, he’s not so sure.

A swim would be nice. Peacetime would be nice, too, but he can’t have everything, can he?

“Evening, sir.” Colt mumbles. He figures that if the Jedi General has made the effort to sneak into the facility after him, in the dead of night, in her _nightclothes_ , that formalities such as _saluting_ and _wearing your armour_ are excused for the time being. She says nothing until she sits down beside him and assumes a meditative stance.

“It certainly is, Colt.”

“You’re not going to Coruscant?”

“Tomorrow. The storm worsened. You know, it might have been easier for me to find you if you had your wrist comm turned on.” She replies. She’s taken to peering over the scaffolding railing, the same as Colt, at the swirling water below.

“You found me alright, sir.”

“Colt, _please_. I clocked out hours ago, and I think we’ve known each other long enough for a first name basis.”

Colt balks. “I wasn’t aware Jedi Masters _clocked out_. And what if my commanding officer found out?”

“I _am_ your commanding officer.”

“So are you going to tell me off for breaking in here?” Colt asks. He tugs at the collar of his blacks. “…sir.” Shaak laughs.

“Seeing as I followed you through the ventilation shafts to get here, and crawling around after-hours in my nightclothes is a rather undignified action for a Jedi Council member, no,” Shaak replies. She still isn’t looking at him, but her lips curve into a small smile.

Colt waits for a few moments, unsure if he’s bewildered, tired, or just plain hallucinating the encounter. “Is this your version of _running ashore_?” Shaak looks at him, properly. Her violet eyes glint in the dim lighting.

“Is this _yours_?”

Colt hums. “It might be. A little hooch would be nice. Somehow though, I doubt you’ve got any.” He adds, glancing at the Togrutan with a teasing smirk.

“I may be a monk, Colt,” She retorts. “but I prefer a glass of delicate champagne, to… _hooch_ , as you say. Or an aged Shilian wine.”

“Ah, yes. A civilized drink for a civilized woman.”

“Quite.” That’s enough to reduce the two to a burst of chuckles, that eventually fades into a comfortable silence.

After… Colt doesn’t know how long— _seconds, minutes, hours?_ Shaak opens her mouth to speak again. Her expression is unreadable. “Colt, would you do me a favour?”

“Anything.” He responds, almost immediately. Shaak shakes her head.

“This isn’t an order, Colt. This is a decision only you can make.” Colt nods his head and waits for her to continue. Shaak purses her lips as if she’s hesitant to go on. “Can you keep a secret?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20   
> edit note: turns out now that s2 of the mandalorian is out, jango being mando/fighting in the civil war is in fact canon again and that is so swag. to add on to the below notes, "charlie-foxtrot" is military slang for clusterfuck and looking back on it: this entire chapter is probably my favourite that i've written so far.]
> 
> the fragment of a quote at the beginning is from the clone wars movie novelization by karen traviss. read it! love it! cry over jango fett’s canon backstory with me that was erased! i’m not a dooku apologist, but the man made some damn good points. i intend to delve more into my version of jango’s past in future chapters, but for now this is all you get until the christophsis arc is over.
> 
> tysm for waiting for this, i’ve been trying to keep a weekly update schedule but sometimes i get sidetracked. (,,i finished the campaign on jedi: fallen order in three days and now i’m crying over cal kestis, debating if i wanna start a new fic or not. i miss him and bd-1 so much!)
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> ori’haat — it’s the truth, i swear  
> gar di’kut — you idiot  
> su’cuy — hi  
> shu’shuk — disaster, screw-up  
> usen’ye — go away  
> osik — mandalorian insult  
> gev! — pack it in!  
> k’oyacyi vod. traat’aliit gar besbe’trayc — come back safely. the squad is your weapon  
> oya! — cheers!/stay alive!  
> haran — hell  
> mando’ade — mandalorians/children of mandalore  
> jetiise — jedi (plural)  
> auretii — traitor  
> gal — alcohol


	7. Chapter Six: "The Sharpest Lives"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango, Kane, and Scythe set up their ice-cream stand of long-ranged death in an abandoned tower. Anakin and Obi-Wan’s plan falls on its ass, and Jango opens up about his past life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized i made a really big mistake in chapter one, so i went back and fixed it when i realized what i had done!! i mentioned that the christophsis and ryloth campaigns were already over, but i forgot to go back and change it when i decided i was going to start this fic from where tcw begins instead of later on. i apologize for any confusion this may have caused!

Jango’s breathing is erratic. He’s lost track of how many droids have fallen at his blaster. Somewhere along the line, he swiped a DC-15x from the cobblestone street and a few spare energy magazines and slung the rifle across his shoulder. Shooting droids is easy enough. Easier than live targets, but the sheer number of them, coming wave after wave when the battle has barely even begun has started taking a toll. Life as a _beroya_ came easy. _Too_ easy. Keeping up with Skywalker, on the other hand, and trying not to get shot in the crossfire, is an entirely different and _significantly harder_ feat than one would expect. A slithering thought reminds Jango that the last time he saw this many people— _vod’e_ , dead, dying, or worse, in one place, was the last time he saw freedom. He pushes it away and focuses on dropping as many battle droids as he can. It’s almost annoying, at this point, because they keep walking into Jango’s shots. Kane is somewhere behind him, lost from Jango’s peripheral vision amid the flurry. Every so often he appears at Jango’s side to give him a push and send him staggering out of the way of a bolt, or out of the blast-radius of a ranged-missile.

All in all, the 501st Legion has made good time in connecting with fragments of Kenobi’s forces. With the added reinforcements, the 212th has since managed to break through the droid’s advances and push past their line, toward where the rendezvous point originally was supposed to be, just outside of what formerly was the 212th’s forward operating base.

Jango starts when the trooper in front of him suddenly falls into a heap on the ground with a shot in the centre of their chest. Then falls another, and another-

“Sniper! Get to cover!” Slick bellows. _Great_. Jango ducks behind a destroyed tank and pulls the rifle from behind his back. He doesn’t have to look for Kane this time, because he shows up beside him and points to a high-rise above where the droids are coming from.

“Four-hundred yards, fourth floor, second window to the left. Can you do it?”

“Piece of _tiingilar_ , kid,” Jango breathes and pokes the barrel of the DC-15x through a hole made by a missile in the tank’s armour. He steadies himself, adjusts the scope, and ere long falls the commando unit's faceplate forward with a steaming hole between its amber receptors.

“Nice shot.”

“Told you.” Jango replies nonchalantly. His wracked nerves say otherwise, but at least he hasn’t lost his proficiency after all these years. Months. _Whatever_. “Any more?” he says.

Kane stands up and squints through the haze of smoke. “No. Not yet, anyway. I’ll keep an eye out for flashes. _You_ try not to get your head blown off.”

“Easier said than done.” Jango growls, and makes a break across the street to where Slick and a few others wait out of range from where they could have been taken out by the sniper. “Cleared, sir. We’re good to go.” Slick looks at him, then, and based on the way he takes a break from firing to cock his head at the shiny standing beside him with a rifle nearly as long as he is tall, Jango might say he’s impressed. Slick takes Jango’s word for it and nods before gesturing for the rest of his squad to continue their advance through the city.

“Any word from the generals yet, sir?” Scythe asks. Jango has time to notice the pattern on his armour (it’s simple, yet the familiar design of a reaping scythe is emblazoned on his left thigh-guard amid thick strips of 501st blue) while the remaining troops from surrounding platoons gather together and reform their assault formations. Slick looks slightly out of breath as he shakes his head.

“No, but we’re almost at the rendezvous. General Kenobi is leading a company from the north, so by the time we get there, there shouldn’t be any…” he pauses. “Ah, _issues_.”

Jango bristles. Scythe clasps him on the shoulder suddenly, grabbing his attention though he addresses Slick. “Permission to take hotshot here and set up a sniper position?”

“Alright. Be careful. We’ll cover you,” Slick states firmly, and with that Scythe leads Jango and darts to one of the towers beside them.

“These buildings are clean, right?” Jango mutters. “I don’t really fancy getting stabbed by a droid again when I’m not looking.” The tower is quiet, and the cement infrastructure of the stairwell does a lot to deaden the sound outside. Scythe takes point going up the flights after the two find out that the lift shaft was destroyed as a result of a bombing run the night before.

“How the hell did a clanker stab you on _Kamino_?” He replies quietly. He keeps raising his blaster to check around the staircase banister every time he sets foot on a new landing.

Jango’s eyes flick to Kane, trailing silently between the two troopers. “Tried spec training once. Took it between the shoulder blades. Left me stuck in bacta for a few weeks, but now I know not to leave my _shebs_ out in the open for everyone to see.”

Kane whirls around. His face is flushed a deeper shade of blue in embarrassment. “How did you find out about that? I didn’t tell you.”

Scythe chuckles, louder this time. “You’re full of surprises, _vod_. Here, we’re at the top.”

He kicks open the door. It’s ajar and gives easily under the movement. They clear the floor, relieved to find it empty, and then quickly move toward the windows facing the open street. A few blocks down is the 501st and 212th’s muster point, but between it lies a dense cluster of marching battle droids. Jango breaks the cracked glass with his rifle stock and moves to lie prone. Scythe takes a moment to sight in the sniper rifle that he brought.

“Pick your targets, shiny. And be ready to hightail it if they get a fix on us with launchers.”

Jango feels something cold brush against his side, and sees Kane silently point to another commando droid crawling up onto the roof of a plaza across the street. “They just don’t know when to quit, do they,” He sighs, and takes the shot before the commando has time to ‘set up shop’.

“You took a specialist, didn’t you.” Scythe speaks, after a few moments. “You’re way better at this than I am.”

Jango hums. “I’ve got nothing to do but practice.”

“You don’t have hobbies or nothin’?” Scythe asks. Jango can hear the smile in his voice.

He huffs. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Scythe trails, and shoots another two droids. “Leer has an inappropriate collection of contraband holonovels on the _Resolute_ that he rents out like a library. Our mutual _burc’ya_ Scud likes taking apart Ged’s rotary for some reason.”

“I didn’t figure Leer to be the one to read, out of the two of you.” Jango replies. His heart rate has calmed down significantly.

Scythe snickers. “Yeah, even though he doesn’t look like he knows how. I think he just likes looking at the pictures.” Another droid, reduced to scrap. Jango makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. He’s starting to like this. “So what about you? What keeps you goin’, besides…” he wanders. “ _Living_.” Kane perks up to listen between pointing out unsuspecting droids that seemed to have offended him.

Jango’s mind wanders to Boba. Teaching him how to fly and shoot a blaster in the ranges, all those hours spent tweaking the _Slave I_ on Tipoca City’s landing pad. Boba wearing a clone helmet, running around with a bedsheet tied around his neck as a cape. _Kote, out in the hail, pleading to be let go_. He swallows a sour feeling clawing at his chest. “The cadets.” Is all he says. He can’t manage anything else.

“The little _vod’e_?” Scythe whispers softly. “Yeah. Y’know what, me too. That’s… that’s what we _should_ be fighting for.”

“If not that, then for what?” Jango mumbles in return. He tosses an empty magazine to the side and loads a new one. The droids are thinning now. Soon they’ll have to move out of the tower and rejoin the rest of their group.

Scythe huffs. “Freedom. Peace. Liberty. Whatever the _Senate_ wants us to do.”

“Not a fan of the politicians?” Jango responds.

“Is anyone? …C’mon. We’d better get down there before Slick makes us catch up.”

* * *

The rendezvous point was secured just as the Sergeant had predicted. The droid divisions were either destroyed or pushed back away far enough that med tents could be set up. Transport to and from the _Resolute_ was still suspended due to heavy flak, which means that the wounded can’t be evacuated any time soon, or at least until the droid’s cannons are destroyed.

Jango looks out at the crowd of tents, bustling with medics carrying casualties on stretchers, and exhausted troopers milling around what looked to be the only point of available rest for the foreseeable future. Ration packs are being distributed among the weary battle groups, 501st and 212th alike, a mixture of blue, yellow and white amid Christophsis’ natural sheen of iridescent turquoise. 5772 is somewhere among the mess, Jango knows. Where the rest of his squad has wound up, he has no idea. Kane notices this, too, and disappears into the crowd in search of his batchmates, as does Jango.

“I’m gonna go look for someone.” He says to Scythe, before heading off in the direction of the aid stations.

As it turns out, finding a rookie medic in a sea of other shinies is a very hard thing to do.

“Lost, _vod_?” A voice says, pulling him out of his thoughts. The man’s missing his helmet, and a buzz-cut is the only visible distingue outside of the universal first-aid insignia on his shoulder. His armour’s paint job is severely faded and covered in scratches. _Which is a good sign_ , in Jango’s opinion. He pulls off his own helmet.

“CT-5772, they’re a medic. Have you seen them?”

“Yeah, 57,” the man stops, and turns to look behind himself. “They’re over there, by the supply crates.”

“You’re Coric, right?”

The man nods. “Senior medic of the Legion. Are you one of us or Cody’s?”

Jango ignores the pang in his chest. “501st. Shipped in a few days ago.”

Coric grins. “Hey, good work out there _ner’vod_.”

“I didn’t exactly do much.” Jango replies, and his brow furrows.

“You made it here. That’s good enough for anyone.” Coric returns. He smiles again and turns away in the direction he came.

Jango catches up to 57 before they have the chance to disappear. “Hey,” he calls out, to which the medic turns and lights up when they see him. They bolt forward to throw their arms around his neck in a tight embrace, catching Jango by surprise and causing him to lose balance for a moment.

“Kane! _Kriff_ , I thought you were _dead_ when you didn’t show up with the others.” They blurt, pulling back. “Where were you?”

“Up in a tower with Scythe. Talking _osik_ ‘bout you.” Jango replies gruffly. He breaks into a thin-lipped smile. “S’good to see you too. I’m gonna go find some _skraan_ before I drop dead, I’ll catch you again.”

“That’s it? No hi, 57, how’s grunt work, could I help you move these crates?”

“I came to check up on you, kid.” Jango fires back, matching 57’s tired grin with one of his own. “To make sure I didn’t lose you.” 5772 stops mid-lift and sets one of the crates back down on the ground. They tilt their head to the side, and an unrecognizable expression washes over them.

“ _Vor’e_ , Kane. I’m _really_ happy you’re alive.” They don’t wait for a response before picking up the crate, sauntering toward one of the tents.

Jango hums to himself, internally groaning for letting Kane out of his sight. He’s losing track of how many times that has happened today alone. _How much trouble can a dead clone get into, anyway? Speak of the devil_. Kane comes into view, not bothering to slink between other soldiers— he just walks straight through them without a second thought.

“They’re back there. Wick’s a little… toasted, but he’ll be alright.”

“ _Toasted_?” Jango mutters incredulously, making sure to keep quiet.

“He got thrown back by a grenade. Deke said _57 said_ he might have a slight concussion from it so they’re gonna send him back to the Resolute as soon as they can.”

“How is he toasted, though?”

Kane grins. Devilishly, at that. It’s starting to become a habit, Jango notices. _How wonderful._ “Singed his eyebrows pretty bad, _vod_. Let’s just say he’s a bit darker than the rest of us now.”

“At least he ain’t karking _kebiin_ like someone i know.”

“Yeah, very funny, _mir’sheb_. You’re the one talking to yourself. They’re right over there.” Kane drags Jango toward where a cluster of clones are sitting together, chatting among themselves. He doesn’t miss Jango breathe a heavy sigh of relief and turns to grin over his shoulder.

* * *

Jango looks down on the glittering Cristophsian streets below, crystalline in the sunlight, hundreds of stories beneath the triad towers that a select few platoons from the 501st and 212th lie awaiting the droid army’s advance through the city. Skywalker’s plan is to ambush the battle droid armada as they march through the city to the clone’s _suspected_ location, and try not to get killed while doing it. Why they’re at the very top floor Jango has no clue, because a few detonators in the foundation level could send the entire infrastructure toppling to the ground. Hopefully, their plan works. _Hopefully_. Jango seems to be short on hope these days, but he keeps his mouth shut. This could work. Or it could go horribly wrong.

He keeps a cautious eye on Slick, still unnerved by a nagging gut feeling telling him that something is off- that he’s missing a very important detail. Skywalker doesn’t seem at all fazed. Perhaps its a facade, and he feels the same thing.

(Or perhaps he doesn’t have trust issues like Jango.)

 _Yeah, that’s it_.

“Sir, you’d better take a look at this.” Rex calls suddenly, drawing the Jedi toward him to point down at the nearing droids. The man lets out a loud curse in Huttese and punches the commlink on his wrist with one finger.

“Obi-Wan, they’re splitting up.”

“ _What_?” Comes the reply. Jango’s still reeling from the previous encounter— if you can even _call_ it that. Kenobi’s voice is thick with a familiar Coruscanti accent. “Something isn’t right, I—” the comm suddenly shuts off.

“Obi-Wan? What’s going on over there?” Skywalker demands. Leer lets out a shout of alarm toward the adjacent tower, where a flash of sparks and blaster-fire can be seen on one of the floors. “ _Scrag_.” Skywalker spits. He ignites his lightsaber with a swift spin and slashes a pane before pushing the glass outward with a burst of the force. “Ascension cables, now!” He orders, to which Scythe and Leer waste no time in shooting their grapples out across the expanse. Rex tosses him a blaster to use for a handle, and Skywalker jumps out the now-open window to zip-line across.

“Hope you’re not scared of heights.” Jango mutters and slaps Deke’s shoulder on his way by, not waiting for an answer as he leaps out after the others. The wind whistles past him, and for a freak-moment, he longs for his _sen’tra_ and the exhilarating rush that follows his feet lifting off the ground. When he reaches the end of the cable, he drops into a somersault and fires a quick shot at a droid as he runs to catch up with Skywalker and Rex. Kenobi’s floor is completely overrun. Clearly, Skywalker’s plan was not as foolproof as he had thought, but there isn’t time to worry about contingencies at this moment. He sees a flash of blue again, and this time it isn’t either of the Jedi’s lightsabers. Kane seems to be making a considerable effort not to be noticed by Skywalker or Kenobi. And again, Jango’s heart has returned to a familiar rhythm resembling a detonator about to explode. He stays fighting beside Deke, firing when he has the chance. Urban warfare is one thing, but a full-scale ambush inside of a closed space is not something he wants to do twice.

“Hawk, we’re gonna need an evac!” Skywalker calls into his comm. A brief flash of white noise follows until the pilot responds to confirm.

Jango fires shot after shot, but the droids keep coming and it quickly becomes overwhelming. The Jedi, too, seem to be growing tired and Kenobi calls for a retreat. They attempt to block the doors in front of them from the droids, though the point is moot as what looks like every entrance to the floor they’re in is spouting droids faster than the clones can shoot them, and faster than the Jedi can cut them down. They reach the central lift, eventually, and pack as many of the troopers in as they can to send to the roof. The others follow Kenobi, which is a group from the 212th, and several from Slick’s platoon, including Jango and Deke. Kane, of course, follows and taps on Jango’s shoulder whenever a droid is within distance to shoot from behind. Kenobi’s far enough ahead on the staircase that he doesn’t notice.

When they finally reach the rooftop, Skywalker has already engaged the droids waiting for them, and Hawk’s gunship, as well as a few others, can be seen weaving through skyscrapers toward their location. It doesn’t take long for the 501st’s general to destroy the droid’s commander and for the rest of the troopers to destroy the stragglers on the rooftop. Hawk’s evac lands just in time for the droids coming up the stairwell to reach their location, but all expressions are grim when the LAAT/i’s blast doors slide shut.

The plan went south, _fast_ , and the intelligence from the recon units that Skywalker’s plan relied on was faulty or entirely tampered with, leaving Jango and the remaining group of 212th and 501st soldiers unsettled and anxious during the retreat to their base. What _should_ have been an easy victory was anything but.

* * *

The new FOB for both battalions is a welcome change to the constant fighting over the last several days. Given the direct order from Skywalker to _rest_ , one that Jango has no problem with following, allows a hot meal from the mess hall and the opportunity for a shower. A _very long_ shower that leaves Jango wishing he could melt into the drain and escape the futility of fighting a war for a corrupt regime, even if part of him relishes in the familiarity of camaraderie and the chance to let off steam by destroying battle droids.

He lets Kane and his batchmates drag him to the mess hall the night of their blistering defeat in the towers— allowing the others to take charge of speaking while he mulls about in his thoughts and the feeling about his new sergeant that he can’t seem to shake, despite what looks to be Slick’s unwavering loyalty. He’s a good leader, Jango cannot deny that. But… there’s a strange look in his eye that Jango has caught from time to time.

Kane tells him he shouldn’t be so paranoid, and Jango might be inclined to listen to that advice if Slick wasn’t _missing_ from the mess hall.

“Alright, I need sleep or I’m gonna pass out face first into this…” Jango pauses, looking down at the scraps of his meal. Scud laughs and pats him on the back.

“Go hit the racks, _vod_.”

Jango departs the mess, not looking behind to see if Kane is following. Based on how the temperature drops around him, he doesn’t have to.

“You’re not going to sleep, are you.” Kane states, once the two make it to their squad’s assigned barracks.

“Couldn’t even if I tried.” Jango sighs, setting his helmet on his bunk before sitting down on the footlocker at the end of the bed to start unlatching his armour. Its a methodical process he’s come to enjoy, similar to removing his _beskar’gam_ back when he had it. Kane sinks into the mattress. Realizing the silence, Jango opens his mouth to speak. “ _Me’bana_ , you’re never this quiet.” Kane doesn’t reply for a moment. Jango twists to peer at him over his shoulder.

“What happened to your family?” He asks, timidly. He corrects himself suddenly. “You don’t have to tell me, I know it’s none of my business,”

“It’s alright.” Jango cuts in, turning back to finish taking off his leg armour. He takes a beat to form his words, letting his hands fall slack at his sides. “…I was a child when Tor Viszla, the leader of a breakaway sect from the what we called the _True Mando’ade_ found my _vod_ and I working on our _buir’s_ farm on Concord Dawn. He called his group _Kyr’tsad,_ or _Death Watch_. They believed that Mandalore should become an empire and that we should expand our territories to the neighbouring systems. He took us back to our home, where he murdered my father, my sister, and my mother in front of me. My brother and I escaped and found the ‘beggars’ that were hiding in our fields, the men that my _buir_ was killed for aiding. Kote led us down into the irrigation tubes to escape the fire that Viszla set off to flush us out. We ended up just outside of the nearby town, where I killed one of Viszla’s men, the one that shot my father. After the battle was won the _Mando’ade_ took us in.

“We spent the next decade living and learning their ways. We swore the creed— the _Resol’nare_ , just as the other _Mando’ade_ had done. We were on a mission to Korda VI for an extraction when the _Kyr’tsad_ ambushed us. They had trained a group of locals to oppose us before they themselves finished the attack. It was a _bloodbath_. Jaster Mareel, the man who adopted Kote and me, was killed, and Tor Viszla escaped again. When Jaster died the _Mando’ade_ would only follow my brother as their leader. He claimed the title of _Mand’alor_ , and we lived to continue our war against _Kyr’tsad_.

“A year later…” Jango pauses. His hands start to tremble, so he curls them tightly into fists at his side. “A year later we were on Galidraan, clearing out a group of insurgents at the employment of Galidraan’s governor. But we knew that he was funding Death Watch and that he harboured Viszla and his men in his palace. Kote sent me back to our camp to gather the rest of our warriors and went ahead to interrogate the governor. Viszla was waiting for him when he got there, and Kote was forced to flee with a damaged jetpack. He crash-landed just outside of the camp.”

Jango looks up and makes eye contact with Kane. “That’s when the _Jetiise_ showed up. The governor begged for the Council’s help at Viszla’s order, telling them that we were slaughtering political activists. Viszla sent them to our location and said that we’d been killing women and children, too. Kote barely had enough time to make it back to warn us before the _Jetiise_ came over the ridge and ordered our surrender. We engaged.” He stops, redirecting his gaze to glare at the pile of armour stacked at his feet. “They slaughtered us. I lost my weapon. One of them killed my brother from behind. So I… started killing them with my bare hands until I had no energy left to spare. They arrested me and turned me over to the Galidraan government. I didn’t even get to _bury_ them, Kane.” Jango breathes, breaking off into a whisper.

“I was _sixteen_. I spent the next two years of my life as a slave before a group of pirates attacked the transport ship I was on and I escaped. I returned to Galidraan and killed the governor. He,” Jango cuts himself off to inhale sharply. “He had my brother’s beskar displayed in his mansion like a _trophy_. I forced him to tell me where I could find the _Kyr’tsad_ before I cut out his throat.” He spits. “I found Viszla and destroyed his ship, then took an escape pod and landed on Corellia, the same as Viszla. I won, in the end. Well,” he trails, letting out another bitter laugh, laced with enough hatred to make Kane grimace. “It’s not really winning, is it? Not when I lost everything.”

Kane doesn’t respond.

“I tried to make a life for myself as a bounty hunter before Dooku found me on Bogden. He…” Jango barks out another laugh, angrily this time. “He tried to apologize for Galidraan. Like the _apology_ of a fallen _Jetii_ changes what he did.”

“I thought you said he recruited you?” Kane mumbles. It comes out less of a question, and more a statement. Jango nods.

“Forcefully persuaded me, is more like it. I don’t remember much, after that. The _Kaminiise_ kept me on enough drugs until they had what they needed to start cloning. Then they locked me in a reconditioning chamber until I forgot what I had seen. What I had heard about their _wonderful little plan_. Things came back slowly, over time. I don’t think they really knew what they were doing when they tried to erase my memories. They had me in stasis until they needed me to start training the clones, and by then I didn’t bother to care what happened to them. I kept that mindset for maybe an hour until I saw myself, the same way I had looked all those years ago on Concord Dawn. From then on, it wasn’t just a job. I couldn’t quit even if I wanted to, and that was probably what the _Kaminiise_ wanted me to think from the start. I had an obligation to… to protect them. They were just kids when I met them. Insolent, _disobedient_ and _unpredictable_ , but children nonetheless. I recruited the _Cuy’val_ _Dar_ to help train the army. A man named Kal Skirata adopted the Null-Class ARCs, the clone prototypes, and adopted them when the _Kaminiise_ labelled them defective and wanted to kill them. I asked for an unaltered clone to raise for myself.”

“Boba.” Kane says. Jango makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a grunt and a choked sob.

“I taught the ARCs everything I knew. Everything that Jaster and Kote taught me, with the hope that they could survive. I realized that I was given a chance to rebuild our people, whether or not Dooku saw that as well.”

“Rebuild?” Kane interrupts. “What do you mean?”

“Duchess Kryze— the woman who calls herself Duchess, at least, created a new Mandalore with the ashes of what mine used to be. Pacifistic. She disregarded our ways and exiled what was left of our warriors to Concordia, where I believe that Death Watch has shown its… _ugly face_ again with Viszla’s descendant. I had a few contacts in Sundari and Keldabe who told me that some of the True _Mando’ade_ fell in with the new _Kyr’tsad_ when they had nothing left to fight other than oppression.”

“Didn’t you tell me that you weren’t in contact with any Mandalorians?”

“Yes. Because I’m supposed to be dead.” Jango replies flatly. “Anyway, there was talk of an uprising on Mandalore before I died. Had Dooku not forced me to take Gunray’s commission and ultimately lead Kenobi back to Kamino, I had plans to take Boba and the Alphas that were loyal to me,”

“So, _all of them?_ ” Kane adds, to which Jango lets out a quiet chuckle.

“They agreed to leave with what clones we could muster. Only some hundred-thousand had been created at that time, the rest were still in growth chambers, so deserting Kamino entirely was on the table for us until we could come back with the strength to free the young ones.”

A beat passes.

“You were going to form a bloody coup and take back Mandalore.” Kane concludes. “Wouldn’t the Jedi have tried to stop you?”

“The Jedi didn’t have an army. Not then, at least. Clearly that plan went out the window when Dooku changed it for me. And I wasn’t that much of a fool to think that I could kill him by myself. It's strange to think that was less than a year ago.”

“But what do you mean by _Dooku’s_ plan? Why would he create an army for the Jedi?”

Jango shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he thought if they were loyal to me and if I was loyal to Dooku’s cause for destroying the _Jetiise_? I’m not sure. It’s not like Dooku told me every detail of his plot. I think he knew that if he did it would give me all the more reason to kill _him_.”

“You hate the Jedi, though.”

“Not enough that I want them all dead. Revenge won’t change what happened to me or my people, and it won’t bring back my family. I know that now. _Justice_ is what I really want. I already killed who was responsible, and that was Viszla. Dooku was only added to my list of _‘people I want dead_ ’ when he threatened my son if I didn’t do what he said. I don’t think he really thought through what could all possibly happen when he decided to clone a Mandalorian. And an immature one, at that.” Jango finishes. He sighs heavily, and Kane stands from the bed to sit beside him on the locker. He leans into Jango’s shoulder for a moment, sending a ripple of cold tingling across his skin. “Maybe he’s more of a fool than he lets on. There’s a lot of things I don’t know, kid. I’m going to try to fix my mistakes, and part of that starts with finding my son. I have to make sure that Dooku can’t get his hands on him if he hasn’t already.”

“Will finding him be easy?”

“If he’s staying with my… _former colleagues_ , then yes. There’s a reason that I was the best _beroya_ in the galaxy, Kane. And Boba is smart. We worked through what he should do if something were to happen to me, who he should trust and who he shouldn’t.”

“Who should he trust, then? That might be a start for a search.” Kane asks, and Jango smiles sadly.

“No one, Kane. I told him not to trust _anyone_ unless he knew them beforehand. And up until Geonosis, he didn’t know anyone but clones. I kept him away from the _Cuy’val Dar_ because I wasn’t sure where their loyalties truly lied. He’d trust the Alpha’s without a second thought, but not the Nulls if they ever managed to track him down. Captain Ordo stuck his head down the refresher when the two were the same physical age after Boba said I could beat Kal in a fight. That… tampered with their relationship, I’m afraid.”

“Could you?” Kane inquires, with an amused grin. “Beat Skirata.”

“With my eyes closed, kid.” Jango retorts, bringing up a hand to ruffle Kane’s curls. His smile falters and his arm falls back down. “He’s out there alone, Kane. He wouldn’t let the Jedi find him even if they looked for him after Geonosis. I would have left him behind on Kamino, but…”

“He would’ve found a way to follow you anyway.”

“He hated it when I left. I always told him that one day when he was older I’d take him with me, yet somehow I think he knew what was coming. Maybe he overheard something I didn’t at some point- he got abnormally hysterical when I said I’d be going away for a while. I don’t know how, but he knew that I was going to die in that arena.” Jango stops. He goes to continue, though his words come out in a whisper. “I promised myself I would never let my son lose his father the way that I had lost mine. I should have forced him to stay on Kamino with Alpha-17 so he... _so he at least wouldn’t have to_ see _it._ ”

Kane looks down at his hands, the same as Jango. “He’d hate you if you did.”

Jango sighs.

“Did _you_?”

“No.” Kane responds softly. “None of us hated you. I was too young, but… it still hurt when you were gone. It hurt all of us, in some way or another. I can’t imagine what it would feel like for Boba. But he wouldn’t _hate_ you.”

A moment of silence falls thick between the two. The barracks are still empty, but that shouldn’t stay the same for long. The troops would be returning from the mess soon- and still, Jango looks _and_ _feels_ like he’s been run over by a rankor. Slick and the others could show up any minute. Jango forces himself to stand.

“We’ll find him, Jango.” Kane says, so earnestly that it takes the man by surprise, and grabs his hand. “When we’re given leave to Coruscant we’ll track him down. You taught us never to leave a _vod_ behind, and that includes Boba.”

“ _Vor entye, ner verd’ika_.” Jango softens.

Kane tries to reply, but the startling crash of Scythe, Leer, and the rest of Jango’s squad bursting into the room cuts him off.

“What’s going on?” Jango demands.

“We have a turncoat in our midst.” A voice replies. Jango looks to the doorway to see Captain Rex entering the barracks, followed by… _Cody_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> no beta we die like men. this is unintentionally 1,200 words longer than i originally intended it to be but its been raining for the last week and i’m stuck inside.
> 
> this chapter takes place in “hidden enemy”, which falls right before the clone wars movie. once again i am giddy for when ahsoka can finally appear in this fic :) things might not be exactly the same as how they play out in the episode, because i’m writing with what i remember happened, and dialogue isn’t the same. this probably won’t be the case for every canon-centric chapter in the future, though.
> 
> the canon backstory of jango fett is a prevalent theme in this fic, obviously, because it’s centred around jango himself. mandalorian culture is a bit hard to do research on seeing as i’m relying on ‘the mandalorian’ post-empire series that we all know and love, mando’a forums, and what little bit of information i can scrounge up on how the clones viewed fett from comic series and book fragments that i can find for free on the internet. i want this to be as accurate to his character as i can get, even though i’m kind of winging his characterization most of the time.
> 
> open seasons is a fun series to read! i needed information on what went down during the mandalorian civil war era specifically jango’s backstory, even though my version of jango is only around 28 and twentyish years younger than he is in aotc.
> 
> [ edit note: yo remember this bit down here!! ] 
> 
> however, this is an au, and in the end how i portray characters and decipher canon is entirely up to me. a wise author once tagged their work: “canon is a native song bird and i’m a house cat about to take it apart and use all the juicy bits”. i’ll probably end up salvaging pieces from the republic commando books when i finally get my hands on them, but we’ll see which way the wind blows me. the cuy’val dar, nulls, and alpha-class arcs have piqued my interest over this last week and they might end up being mentioned more later on, but i thought i’d throw them in now as they’re relevant to how this story will be directed to in the future. (much much much later on… we’re only on episode two of, what, 625? don’t get your hopes up on seeing ordo anytime soon!)
> 
> okay. i’ll shut up now and end this novel of an author’s note!! xx
> 
> Mando'a Translations  
> beroya - bounty hunter  
> tiingilar - a ‘blisteringly spicy’ mandalorian casserole  
> skraan - slang for food, scran  
> vor’e - thanks  
> kebiin - blue  
> mir’sheb - smartass  
> sen’tra - jetpack  
> me’bana - what’s up, what’s wrong  
> buir - father  
> kyr’tsad - death watch, an organization first led by tor viszla during the mandalorian civil war, and then again later by his grandson, pre viszla during the clone war.  
> resol’nare - six actions, the tenets of mandalorian life  
> mand’alor - sole ruler  
> cuy’val dar - “those who no longer exist”, a group of 100 individuals, mostly mandos hired by fett to train clone troopers for the republic during the ten year period between fett’s recruitment and the outbreak of the clone war.  
> vor entye - thank you (lit. i accept a debt)  
> ner verd’ika - my little soldier (verd’ika can also refer to the rank private, context critical)


	8. Chapter Seven: "The Turncoat"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Impossible, nothing is, with the force. Guide us through this mystery, it will."

_“We have a turncoat in our midst.”_

Taking a bullet point-blank would hurt less than seeing Kote for the first time since before Jango’s assassination attempts on Senator Amidala, when he was still living on Kamino. Alas, _here he is_. He isn’t the same boy that Jango used to know, scared and entirely unsure. He looks... _well_ , he looks like Jango did before he died, save for the ugly scar that curls up the side of his face, a dangerous shade of deep red. It must have been recent because the scar-tissue hasn’t yet fully healed. Jango forces his body to obey his command to form up with the rest of his squad at attention. Rex bids them to take a seat before Cody’s stern gaze hovers over every member of the platoon individually.

“A _turncoat_ , sir?” Slick asks, incredulous. “You think one of my troopers would betray us?”

“I don’t _want_ to _think_ _anything_ , Slick,” Cody replies, levelly. His hard eyes land on Jango for a brief moment. “We’ll start with you,” he pauses, and looks to one of the older men, Leer, who sits on a footlocker. “Where were you from twenty-one-hundred hours to twenty-two-hundred hours?”

“I was cleaning my weapon, sir,” Leer responds. He’s tapping his fingers agitatedly. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that you’re my superior officer.”

“You have no reason to be nervous, son.” Cody counters.

“Is what he said true?” Rex asks, to the others.

“Yeah, he does it after every mission.” Scythe replies, quickly. “He’s kinda obsessed that way.”

“The rag’s—” Leer pauses to point to the other side of his room, at his bunk. “—over there in the corner.”

Cody quirks a brow and turns to follow where Leer’s finger directs. “…Right then. Were you using the terminal while you were in here?”

Leer shakes his head. “No, sir. I didn’t even power it up. You can check.”

How ‘bout you?” He continues and shifts his attention to Scud. “Where were you?”

“I was in the mess.” Scud answers quickly, obviously intimidated despite his size.

“Can anyone else confirm that?”

“Yeah, sure, lots of guys. You— you can ask anyone.” He blurts.

Rex’s eyes narrow. “Oh, _we will_.”

“We went in together, all three of us.” Scythe adds, gesturing to himself, Deke, and Scud. “We got there at the same time, sat at the same table, and left together.”

“5772 was doing a shift in the medbay. They’re still there with Coric,” Jango speaks. He’s returned to sitting on his bed beside Kane, who watches the exchange intently. Cody looks at him sharply- or maybe it’s just the scar on the side of his face that gives the appearance of a permanent scowl. Rex nods at Jango to go on. “I was in the mess. I left a half-hour earlier than the others at twenty-one-thirty to get some shut-eye.”

“Is that right?” Slick states. Jango doesn’t like the way all attention shifts toward him with that phrase.

“Yes, sir. _That’s right_. My armour’s stacked on the floor right over there.” He’s careful to keep his tone from spiking out of civility.

Cody takes a step back. Slick moves forward. “Did you make any detours, _Kane_?”’

“If going from my locker to my bed counts as a detour, then _yes_.” He responds evenly. Something waring in the back of his mind sets him on edge. The way his steady gaze turns to a glare doesn’t go unnoticed. _Good_.

“A half-hour seems like enough time to make a detour to me. Perhaps a detour to the communications depot?” Slick presses. Jango stands up from his bed- to which the sergeant takes the opportunity to back him against the wall. “You had a habit of running off by yourself on the _Resolute_ for hours at a time, rookie. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I’m no _hut’uun_ , Slick. I would never betray my family _._ _Nu draar_.” Jango’s lip curls in contempt.

“We’ll see about that.” The sergeant counters. He folds his arms. “You’re a loner, Kane. Everyone here knows it. There’s no point in trying to deny it.”

Scud jumps to his feet and takes a step forward, towering over Slick by nearly a foot. “You don’t know anything about him, Sarge.” He growls, but Cody lays a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving any further.

“Oh, I do, private. I know all about the reconditioning,” he chides, twisting back to face Jango. The dark look has returned, but Jango seems to be the only one who sees it. “So, let’s walk through it, shall we? You get put in the tank and wiped. No-one stopped it from happening, you blame the Jedi for letting it. Is that it? Betray us so that the blame falls on Skywalker and Kenobi?”

“You were conditioned?” Rex interrupts.

Jango doesn’t respond. He doesn’t blink, just stares into Slick’s cold eyes as he opens his mouth to speak in a voice that sounds hardly above a whisper, breaking through the thick tension. “What happened to the squad is your weapon _S_ _arge_? Is that all we are, is _weapons_?” He seethes, and his tone is maliciously even. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I _am_ a loner, and maybe I _do_ blame _someone_ , but it’s not the Jedi. Where were _you_? When everyone else got out of the ‘freshers, we went left towards the mess. _You_ went right, toward the barracks. What were you doing all by yourself?”

The others’ faces contort in confusion as they make their own conclusions.

“Obviously the kid feels cornered,” Slick reprimands, looking lazily over his shoulder at Cody and Rex.

“ _It’s him_ ,” Kane whispers. “ _He’s_ the _auretii_.”

“Look, if you confess willingly, we’ll be sure to give you a fair trial when the Jedi get back,”

“How do you know the Jedi are gone, Slick?” Cody interjects sharply. Slick freezes and Jango’s hands curl into fists at his side. “Last I checked that was classified information."

“He’s going to run, _vod_.” Kane mutters as he stands.

“I really wish you hadn’t noticed that, sir.” Slick mutters, spinning into a blur to connect his fist to Cody’s jaw with a loud _crack_. He pushes Jango squarely in the chest out of his way before diving in one fluid motion, tucking into a roll and making a break for the door. Cody lets out an enraged roar and scrambles to his feet after him with Rex in tow, barking out an order in his comm for all units to lock down the compound.

“ _What the hell?_ ” Leer gasps, looking wildly about.

“Don’t just stand there!” Jango orders, fumbling to put on the last piece of his armour as he dashes out the exit with a DC-17 strapped to his hip, Kane close behind. “Go follow him. Come find me if you do but don’t leave if he’s on the move, got it? I’ll go to the command station and try to flush him out.” He barks, and the two part in opposite directions just in time for the others to exit the barracks.

* * *

**Coruscant**

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Mace asks imploringly. “Either way this information must be brought to light with or without you.”

“I have every intention to do so, Master Windu. I simply wish to complete my studies on this anomaly before I do. It has to happen at some point, and I prefer to enter a meeting with the entire council with as much knowledge on the matter as I can conjure. I merely told you that I believe the force has willed me not to _intervene_. It has said nothing of the sort that I should _hoard_ this knowledge with my dying breath.” Shaak responds flatly. She swirls the steaming Alderaanian tea in her cup before taking a small sip. “I want to see how these events play out, and if this ‘ _Kane_ ’ will reveal himself with the ability to bend the force in due time. We can’t possibly keep him under lock and key, Mace. The absence of a clone, even a rookie is enough for the Kaminoans to take notice. They’re quite particular about their… _assets_.” Her lip curls slightly at saying those words, almost as if they left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“I see,” Mace replies, raising an eyebrow. Shaak smiles to herself and places her cup on the table between the two. “The holocrons, perhaps?”

“Possibly. Madame Nu will know, or at least be able to point me in the right direction. I don’t think _resurrection_ is a topic easily missed in the archives.”

“Surely this clone would have appeared on the register of force-sensitives.” Windu states. Realizing what he’d said, the two share a look. He lets out a quiet string of colourful Huttese under his breath.

“How often do you check it?”

“Every seven days.”

“CT-29-1282 was reconditioned exactly six days ago.”

Mace sets down his own cup with a firm hand with enough force that it rattles the other dishes on the table. He tilts his head after a moment. “I believe this means we’re due to review it again. I shall make contact with Master Ropal immediately. In the meantime, do your research and coordinate a gathering of the full council.”

* * *

**501 st & 212th joint Forward Operating Base, Christophsis**

“Any sight of him?” Jango mumbles, seeing Kane return at last. Leer and Deke, beside him, whisper ‘ _no_ ’ in reply. He curses himself for leaving his helmet in the barracks, but he figures that if Slick’s planning on playing dirty it won’t do much to stop a bolt to the skull. Still, the thermals on his HUD would be nice.

“I saw him out in the landing yard but I lost track,” Kane responds, expression grim.

“He might be headed to the munitions bay.” Jango voices. “If he’s gone this far to screw things up his next move would be to destroy our defence.”

“Good idea, kid,” Leer mutters gruffly and moves to raise his comlink to his mouth. “Captain, he might be headed to the ammunition warehouse.”

 _“We’ll keep an eye on it, Corporal.”_ Rex replies, and the link cuts dead without another word.

“He’s sloppy.” Jango bites. Deke glances at him. “Either that or he’s thought this through to the last detail and wants us to fall into another trap.”

“Why do you say that?” Deke asks.

“Think about it. Textbook tactic for guerrilla warfare,” Jango continues, raising his blaster to check around a corner. “quick and stealthy attacks. Sabotage. Take out ranking officers to disrupt organization and strategic planning among the unit. Fortunately for us, his track record isn’t exactly airtight, and If he’s going to destroy the weapons he’ll do it remotely and take out as much of our assets as he can before he gets captured or shot.”

“So he knew where the generals went and set up a trap,” Leer says. “Could be. Or maybe he only knew they were gone and took his chance. Clearly he wasn’t planning on getting caught, though.”

“As I said, he’s sloppy.” Jango restates. “If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been caught.”

“He almost sold you as the traitor, Kane.” Leer implies testily, to which Jango’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not a coward, _vod,_ _”_ _he snarls,_ “I’d rather eat my own blaster than betray one of my own.”

“I never said you were.” Leer retorts. He sighs. “ _Ni ceta_. It’s just that I’ve known Slick for a long time and now… I don’t. I have no idea who he is anymore, and who knows how long he’s been betraying us to the Seppies.”

The group falls silent. Jango follows as Kane leads them through the F.O.B. corridors, sweeping for any sign of Slick. They pass by a few other squads in the meantime, but the facility has settled eerily quiet save for the sounds of muffled footsteps in adjacent corridors.

Suddenly, a rumble shakes the ground beneath their feet and the alarms blaring over the loudspeakers grow significantly louder.

“That would be the depot.” Deke murmurs.

“Casualty report!” Leer barks into his comm. A few seconds pass before he gets an answer.

_“The warehouse was cleared._ _No_ _casualties, unless you count the Atties.”_

Cody’s voice interrupts. _“Target seen entering the east wing. Nearby units set to stun.”_

Jango grunts and flicks a switch on his blaster. “Shame.”

Leer sighs again, though it's slightly deafened by his helmet. “C’mon, we’re the closest. We might be able to catch him before he escapes into the ducts.”

The trio— minus Kane, who again bolts ahead to find Slick and track him should he evade capture once again— moves toward the last known location of their traitorous sergeant. Jango tries to ignore how his blood boils at the thought of one of his own turning against his _vod’e_ and getting them killed. For what?

Those words keep repeating like a broken record in his brain. Betrayal was unthinkable. _Was_ unthinkable. _Especially_ for a Mandalorian, whose core revolves around loyalty and _honour_ , above all.. Part of him feels like this is his fault— and who is he kidding? Who is he to reprimand Slick for betraying the Jedi, when Jango himself is the very face of Dooku’s ploy to destroy them? He doesn’t know the details, the metaphorical fine print at the bottom of the page, no matter how hard he wracks his brain for answers on how the Sith Lord intends to pull off his scheme. Jango isn’t sure it even _is_ his own plan. After all, even the Count himself must answer to someone.

He forces himself to ignore the interrupting, distracting thoughts, and focuses on adhering to the gut feeling— which, he has no idea where that came from, but it almost feels like something is pulling him to “Turn left,” he mutters, tapping Leer on the side. His knuckle makes a hollow noise against the man’s plastoid.

“Why?”

“Because he’s above us. Don’t look up unless you want a bullet between the eyebrows. One of you go should go get the commander,” he whispers, so quiet that it’s hard for even Jango to hear his own words. He knows Slick won’t hear it because he left without his helmet just as Jango had. Leer and Deke, on the other hand, hear it perfectly with their helmet’s sensors. Leer raises a finger to switch on the private comms between himself and Deke.

A few moments later, she splits off down the hallway to their left. Leer inches forward, enough to be out of Slick’s line-of-sight from the ventilation shaft above, where a grate can be seen. Could be seen. He has no clue how he knows its there, but sure enough, when Leer moves far enough that the automatic doors open and close, it tricks Slick into thinking that Jango is alone in the hall.

He pretends to fumble with his blaster for a few seconds and stands to falsely check around a corner. Kane stands in front of him, leaning against the wall lazily. He points a finger behind Jango.

“Snake’s crawling out of its den, six-o’clock. How’d you know he’s there?” Kane asks. Jango gives him a blank stare, hoping that his eyes do the talking and tell the cadet to ‘ _kriff off.’_

“Y’know,” Jango begins, eyes flicking to the side. He keeps his tone heavy, in a half-hearted drawl, almost as if the task of speaking bores him beyond recognition. Partially, Jango wishes he was still in bed. But he’d be lying if he didn’t say that his fist was itching to knock out a few of Slick’s teeth. “You really had them going, there.” Slick draws in a berated breath. Jango feels the cool metal of a blaster barrel pressed against his skull.

“I guess I did sound kinda guilty when you put it like that,” he adds, and turns slowly around to face the sergeant. The sheer expression of pure, unadulterated contempt meets him in return, and it might take Jango aback if he didn’t see that expression on the daily, directed at battle droids, or the thick, gelatine-like ration cubes that Scud hates so dearly. Jango’s seen a lifetime of sneers, mostly directed at him from the men he trained. If he were Kane— who stands behind him now, glaring at Slick with enough anger that if looks could kill, he’d be nothing but a heap of flesh and bones on the floor— he might want to throttle the man on the spot. If he wasn’t _curious_. “Why’d you do it?” he inquires. His hands are raised beside his head and his blaster lies on the ground by his foot where he dropped it, but what Slick doesn’t notice is that he’s slowly inching his feet into the position where he will be able to make a swinging-kick at the sergeant’s knee and force it to give out. He waits.

“They’re slavers, kid. The Jedi. The Republic,” Slick spits. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re just as blind as the rest of them.”

“No,” Jango interrupts. “No, first off, I’m not a kid. Second, I do understand. I understand more than you will ever know,” he whispers. Slick’s face washes over with confusion. “You’re as free as you’re ever gonna get _._ Republic, Separatist, or neutral, no one is _ever_ free. Either accept that or don’t, but the only place you’re going from here is six feet under or the Federal Republic prison. Take your pick. I’d choose the latter.”

Slick’s lip curls in disdain. “What would you know about anything? You’re a—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m just a naive rookie, I know.” Jango relents. “I’m not a karking _di’kut_ , though, and I’m smart enough to know when someone is so confused that they think killing their only family is going to earn their freedom. Freedom isn’t worth death, _sir,_ ” he bites back. _Gods_ , he wishes he could break the man’s jaw right now. “So, what, is this your first time putting your bucket on backwards? You decided that you today’s the day you’ll betray your _vod’e_ to the Seps?”

“I could kill you.” Slick barks.

“Do it, _hut’uun_. Bet you won’t,” Kane murmurs, knowing the man can’t hear him.

“Then you’ll be a coward _and_ a murderer. Is that how you sleep at night? Do you dream about killing shinies? You _disgust_ me,” Jango seethes back at him.

"No... No, I love my brothers. You just don't see it."

Then, the chorus of boots coming down the corridor toward them sounds. Slick’s eyes narrow into slits. Leer walks leisurely back into the hallway, aiming his pistol toward his former sergeant.

"You're right, I don't see it," Jango responds truthfully. "You don't kill someone out of love."

“You’re stalling,” Slick realizes.

“You really thought you could escape?” Leer laughs. His smile falters. “You kriffing _skug._ I trusted you. _We_ trusted you.”

“I didn’t!” Kane pipes up.

Slick shakes his head and backs away from Jango so he can look Leer in the eye. “Don’t you see? They’re using you. The Republic doesn’t care about you, about _any_ of us. We’re cannon-fodder. _Livestock_. Fett himself—“

“You don’t know anything about him.” Jango spits.

“You forget that the _Jedi_ _murdered_ him,” Slick remarks. The ‘s’ comes out in a hiss. "If he _really_ cared about us..."

“I’d punch him, but my arm would go straight through his thick head,” Kane grumbles.

Jango bites his tongue. “No, I didn’t _forget_. But _Skywalker_ didn’t kill him. _Kenobi_ didn’t. All of those kriffing kid-soldiers in their temple didn’t. You really want them all dead? Because that’s what will happen if Dooku gets what he wants. All of them are going to die.”

Slick sneers. The contempt has returned. “Good.”

_Crack!_

A rifle stock makes contact with his temple from the side, knocking him out and sending him crumpling to the floor. Cody walks into view, staring down at the unconscious sergeant with a look of distaste. He lifts his head and nods curtly at Jango.

“Good work, Private.” He says, and turns to point at the troops entering the corridor, led by Deke. “I want two of you to take him to the brig. Finish locking down the perimeter, and double the guard until the generals return. Everyone _not_ on shift better hit the racks. That means _you_ ,” he finishes, looking pointedly at Leer, apologetically.

The man looks dejected, now. And twice as tired as everyone else.

Jango sighs as he stoops to pick up his blaster from the ground, ignoring the way his aching muscles scream in protest with the movement. Cody clears his throat. Jango, despite his exhaustion, snaps a salute, but the commander waves it off.

“You did good, Kane, really.”

“He knows our name,” the true owner of the name breathes rapturously.

“Thank you, sir,” Jango replies. “Just doing my job.”

“Get some rest.” Cody— no, Kote, replies warmly. Jango can’t bear to think of him with any other name. Part of him wonders why he changed it, if it was intentional on his part, or like Wick said; that it was changed _for_ him. Jango nods and turns away, wandering slowly toward Deke, (stepping around Slick) and moves to return to the barracks. “Oh, and Kane?” he calls. Jango looks over his shoulder at the boy, now man, that he used to know so well. For a split-fraction, the boyish look returns. “I didn't believe him.”

“I know, sir.”

* * *

**Coruscant**

“Mother _fucker_.”

“Master Windu!” Shaak exclaims, aghast. Mace looks at her, and the two maintain eye contact for a moment until the Togrutan’s lips twitch an eager smile.

“This… this is _impossible,”_ _h_ e breathes, turning back to the holocron’s display, spanning across the darkened room like a holograph of the galaxy— with points branching all across the circular room. Bolla Ropal stands a few feet away, mouth agape, staring wide-eyed at the flurry of names suspended in the air around him.

“Impossible, nothing is, with the force. Guide us through this mystery, it will,” Master Yoda hums quietly, though it sounds like he’s only saying it to convince himself. The Council— or, what could be gathered on such short notice, a sum of only six members, stand peering at the words around littered across the projection. The names are only singular. Some of them are… _odd_. Others are distinct names, such as Ruusaan, Meshlaar, Skotiisa. Mandalorian names. _Clone names_.

Mace and Shaak are both looking at the same, however. One, in the very centre of the convergence, surrounded by the force-sensitive infants Bolla had reported the previous week. This is the only, besides the infants, with a full name.

 _Jango Fett_.

"It's impossible," he repeats astoundedly. " _Impossible_."

"Send a messenger to Master Kenobi on Christophsis, we must." Yoda states. "Go undiscussed by the full council, this must not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> don't make fun of me but kane's 'do it, coward' line made me cackle while writing it at 2am last night and i don't have the heart to change it
> 
> and pls pls pls im so excited for the council meeting im literally bouncing rn!!!  
> and i'm sorry that this chapter was a bit late, but i've been really busy recently :/
> 
> its taken me almost 30k words to get to the point where i finish ONE canon episode and i’m just now starting to realize how big this fic is going to be. yikes!! its the good kind of yikes but still! i’ve never committed myself to a project this massive before, though i’m happy to say it brings me a lot of joy and it’s really fun to write.
> 
> tysm for your kudos & the lovely comments on the last chapters <3
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> hut’uun - coward  
> nu draar - no way, absolutely not, never in a million years (lit. not never; mandos use double negatives for emphasis)  
> auretii - traitor  
> ni ceta - i’m sorry (lit. “i kneel”)


	9. Chapter Eight: "Child Soldier"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What,” Anakin whispers, “in the Sith Hells is that?”  
> Obi-Wan deadpans and raises a gloved hand to smack his companion upside the head.

**Christophsis**

“Sit _still_.” 5772 orders, placing an iron-grip on Jango’s shoulder as they inject a stim into the crook of his neck. He winces and sucks in a sharp inhale, slapping an open palm down on the slab he’s sitting on. The medic behind him begins to suture the wound, now clean and steadily growing numb with the aid of the painkiller. By the time the last stitch is in place, all he can feel is a dull throb.

“Damn,” a voice remarks, from behind Jango. He twists to look, unable to help the small smile that slides up his face at the sight of Wick, looking down at Jango’s injury with a disgusted grimace. “When d’you get that?”

“Fell into a piece of rebar, it’s nothing,” he waves Wick off, turning his head as the younger moves to sit down in front of him.

“Twelve stitches ain’t ‘ _nothing_ ’, _di’kut_ ,” 57 mumbles. The sound of a package of bacta being torn open preludes the medic unceremoniously slapping the wide bandage firmly over the closed wound, which draws out a loud curse from Jango.

“How’s your head?” He asks, changing the subject, and also partially to distract himself from the throb that’s returned to a stinging sensation. Wick shrugs.

“Coric said my concussion wasn’t too bad. Didn’t screw me up too bad— not more than I already am,” he adds, with a snicker.

“Do you still have headaches?” 5772 inquires absentmindedly, as they rifle through their med-pack to return the supplies they’d used to tend to Jango.

“For a while. They’re gone now, but no loud noises.”

5772 snorts. “Good luck with that _.”_

The group is in one of the aid stations— an arrangement of polyethylene tarps held up by a series of poles and debris to shield the wounded from the sunlight and drifting clumps of ash. Coric stands a few feet away, cleaning a wound from one of Torrent’s veterans, Ged, who had stumbled in with a chunk of shrapnel cutting through the exposed patch of his bodysuit, beside his backplate. Captain Rex is with them, shaving in the reflection of a large shard of broken glass that leans against a pile of busted concrete.

Silence, comfortable and soothing after days of relentless fighting, settles once more between the group.

Wick breaks it. “The others around?” he asks quietly. Jango knows what the expression on his features really means— that he assumes, or _had_ assumed the worst while he was stuck in the _Resolute’s_ medbay. It’s a simple question under a casual guise, but it appears that Rex, Coric, and Ged have heard the phrase enough times from rookies looking for their squads to tense up and halt their quiet conversation.

“They’re sleeping outside,” Jango responds softly. “We’ve just been waiting on you, kid.”

The title of the oldest falls to _Kane_ whenever Deke is indisposed, Jango has noticed, though she hasn’t made any effort to object when Jango slips up. Being the oldest typically means you’ll be on the path to becoming an NCO, which, for now, is not something that the oldest member of Tango Squad is particularly eager to accept.

Wick sighs heavily in relief. His armour looks clean, almost freshly-scrubbed. Maybe it’s not, and Jango is just _dirty_. Most likely the latter.

“Decided how you’ll do your colours yet?” He prods suddenly, changing the subject, and letting 57 help him wriggle into the top-half of a fresh bodysuit.

“My what?” Wick returns flatly.

“Your armour, _vaar’ika_ ,” Ged interjects, drawing the group’s attention with his tired drawl. He gestures lazily to the stripes of cobalt painted onto his armour. “Better start thinkin’ about it now, ‘cause it’s every shiny’s rite of passage after their first campaign. When we get back to the _Resolute_ we’re bustin’ out the _kebiin_.”

“What he said,” Jango concludes.

Wick hums. “How ‘bout you?”

A wide grin curves up Jango’s cheeks. “You’re just gonna have to wait and see, _vaar'ika,”_ he mocks. At this, Wick lets out an indignant squawk, which draws a bark of laughter from the three Torrent veterans. He goes to speak again, but the low rumble of an aircraft flying overhead cuts him short.

“Reinforcements, sir?” Coric inquires.

Jango tries not to jump out of his skin when Skywalker crashes into the tent. He fails miserably. “Supply run,” is all the Jedi says, before leaving as quickly as he came. Coric smiles— _for the first time since Jango first met him_ , nearly two weeks ago when he first landed on Christophsis.

“Seventy-Two, take these grunts out there and see if they sent us bacta, yeah?” he states, receiving a curt nod from the junior medic in response before tugging Jango and Wick along with them.

“I’m not a grunt,” Wick grumbles, though he doesn’t protest, partly out of fear from earning another threatening stare from Coric.

* * *

“What,” Anakin whispers, “in the _Sith Hells_ is that?”

Obi-Wan deadpans and raises a gloved hand to smack his companion upside the head.

“That would be a Togruta, sir,” Rex responds flatly. Anakin chooses to ignore how his master muffles a burst of choked laughter behind his hand and opts to glare at the captain, who keeps his eyes trained on the approaching youngling and attempts to keep the smirk twitching at the corner of his lips at bay.

“I see that,” he retorts. “What’s a _youngling_ doing here? And where are our supplies?” he demands.

“Anakin, do _try_ and be patient,” Obi-Wan sighs, walking forward to greet the young girl. She’s only tall enough to reach Obi-Wan’s chest— Anakin is _sure_ she can’t be more than ten, what with her head-tails barely skimming her shoulders, montrals barely pointing, and the wide-eyed look that follows the sight of gunships whizzing by overhead, and the distant vibration of explosions rocking the earth in the distance. He remembers the first time he saw a battle to this extent. Geonosis, though he was nineteen and at least twice as tall as this _child_ is now.

“Masters,” she greets, bowing respectfully— looking like she _wants_ to salute Rex based on the way her fingers twitch nervously at her sides, but not knowing if she should. The captain looks down at her quizzically. She looks to Obi-Wan, appearing as if she’s pointedly ignoring Anakin now that he’d bowed in return, which does well to irk him. “I was sent here to deliver a message, Master Kenobi. You are to return to Coruscant as soon as possible to discuss urgent matters with the Council,” she recites, as if she’s memorized exactly what she’s going to say beforehand.

 _She probably did_ , Anakin thinks.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shoot upward. “They sent you all the way to an active war zone to tell me that, young one? I’m sure a holo would have been wiser, our communications were restored several days ago-” he breaks, suddenly interrupted by the girl shaking her head.

“Master Windu said they couldn’t risk the transmission being intercepted. And… that’s not all,” she pauses, and her gaze flicks to Anakin’s momentarily. “Jabba the Hutt’s son was kidnapped. He’s offering a reward for whoever brings him back alive.”

Anakin’s hands clench into fists.

“Reward being?” he bites out.

“Access to Hutt-controlled hyperspace lanes, I’d imagine,” Obi-Wan concludes, and the girl nods in confirmation. “Now,” he begins again. “the true reason why they sent you here is that you’re my new padawan, correct?”

“What?” Anakin blurts. “This is _hardly_ the place for a-“

“ _Actually_ ,” she interrupts. “I was assigned to be Master Skywalker’s apprentice.”

Rex finally cracks. And by that, he turns sharply and walks away to avoid embarrassing himself, as well as his general and quite possibly the youngling, resulting in almost colliding with 5772 followed by Jango and Wick in tow.

“No supplies.”

“Then what’s the ship for?” 57 asks, leaning to peer around Rex. Their face falls. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“General Skywalker’s?”

Rex nods. He isn’t bothering to hide his amused smile anymore.

Jango leans to take a look as well, expecting… well, expecting anything _but_ a fourteen-year-old Jedi staring up at Skywalker with hopeful anticipation, met by what Jango guesses to be a flat-out hard no from the man in question. Based on Kenobi’s disapproving expression directed at his former padawan, he’s guessed right.

“That’s a _kid,_ ” he states. Rex hums.

“Padawan.”

“Sir, _look at her,”_ Jango remarks incredulously. “You came out of the growth chamber bigger than she is now. One gust of wind and she’ll crack a rib.”

Rex doesn’t respond, just turns to look once more and grows quiet with the rest as they observe the exchange between the three Jedi. At some point, Coric joins them, with the intent to demand where in _Haran_ is his medical restock, but halts to watch. Skywalker stalks off. Kenobi’s shoulders sag. The Togruta looks like a kicked tooka, and her disappointed features do something to convince Rex to mumble an incoherent line before he walks forward and leads her away for target practice— or whatever it is you’re supposed to _do_ with a _Jettii’bir_. Jango feels a strange pull residing in his gut that he doesn’t know how to discern. It seems like now, the more time he spends _alive_ rather than dead, the less he understands, and the more he feels confused and startled just like the girl before his eyes. She disappears out of his line of sight, padding hurriedly with her short legs to keep up with Rex’s unintentionally long strides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> i’m sorry this one’s late!! i had issues writing this and it might sound a little rushed in places? i know it's only a half chapter but i wasn’t sure how to properly add wick's return and the little transition between ahsoka meeting anakin and the first part of the clone wars movie where they're still on coruscant? idk if that makes sense. i was going through some personal issues this last week as well, and i didn't want them to reflect onto my updates so i took a break. the full-size chapter nine is already halfway done, so it's coming very soon!
> 
> words really were not agreeing with me at all while writing with this. it might come off as clunky? oops. we're gonna see the tresses of jango being confused over weird force shit. more obi-wan content!! i'm finally back in the right headspace to write :>
> 
> all that’s going through my right now is BAD BATCH SERIES!! BAD BATCH SERIES!! BAD BATCH SERIES!! i’m goin feral  
> i also started two new fics, one’s a codywan au and the other is a fallen order/rebels crossover. go check em out if you want!
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> kebiin — blue  
> vaar’ika — runt, squirt, pip-squeak  
> jettii’bir — jedi apprentice


	10. Chapter Nine: "Experience"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s just a child, Kane notes, stuffed with a child’s mercurine mixture of confidence and uncertainty.

Octuparas, in Jango’s humble opinion, are simply the worst invention ever made in the entire galaxy, in the totalled history of technology and advanced warfare— translation: they’re a pain in his _shebs_ , especially when General Skywalker comes up with the brilliant idea of scaling the side of a building to jump on top of them, or, in the clones’ case, jump and _hope_ that they land on them. All in all, it turns out to be a very effective plan, until Wick, newly recovered from his concussion, loses his coordination followed by his footing when the Octupara’s head begins to rotate in an attempt to shake off its assailants. Jango can only watch with abject horror as he falls off of the droid, four stories to the ground, too disoriented to be able to correct his position so that his jet pack can kick in.

In hindsight, perhaps letting him join the mission was a bad idea.

As it also turns out, Jedi can be quite useful when you’re falling to your death.

Instead of hitting the ground hard, Wick simply stops mid-air and ascends, giving Jango enough time ( _amid balancing precariously atop the Octupara_ ) to turn and see Skywalker with his arm outstretched, his eyes tightly shut with his features contorted in concentration. Wick then lands— flailing, albeit— on his original position and proceeds to grapple onto Ged’s arm for sheer life.

They finish taking out the monstrous droids and regroup with Kenobi’s forces— Jango is _still worried_ about that. He’s worried about a lot of things, but the fact that someone you tried to kill and vice versa is now your commanding officer warrants some… testy feelings. He attempts to steer clear, yet ends up trudging back to the F.O.B. after the skirmish settles with Kenobi, the 212th, and the rest of Skywalker’s group.

* * *

Ahsoka Tano.

That’s what her name is— the padawan learner assigned to General Skywalker— who, (to Captain Rex’s chagrin, _though he won’t verbally admit it out loud and threatens anyone else who speaks on it under pain of death_ ) clings to the edge of the kama on his waist and hasn’t ceased in following him around. _A replacement to holding his hand,_ Kane observes, as A) it prevents her from getting swept up in the bustling crowd of the F.O.B., droid scraps, and the throng of shinies equally enraptured by her presence as she is of theirs, and B) because she seems to have taken an obvious liking to her new captain and has non-verbally vowed to remain at his side. _At least until her new master accepts her as his padawan_. She probably assumes that Skywalker hates her— she’s wrong, of course, and Kane prides himself on his ability to tell when his general is worried _beyond belief_ that someone so small as Ahsoka has been dropped into a _very_ active and _very_ _dangerous_ situation such as this without his say-so. It shows on Anakin’s face, even if he doesn’t realize it, with the muscle in his jaw that twitches or the way his fingers tap restlessly at his sides.

Kane can’t blame him— he’s worried too, but he can also see the sense of hidden strength in the little Togruta’s lithe figure, and he can _feel_ her beat of opportunistic confidence in her connection to The Force. Kane isn’t a Jedi, but he knows one when he sees one— padawan braid and dune-coloured robes or not.

He longs to speak to her. To not have to hide in the shadows of himself, _Jango,_ and pretend he’s just another fleeting waft of cold air in the force-user’s surroundings. He’s confused, above all, and needs to understand with hopeless desperation about _what happened_ and what is _continuing to happen_ in his life— his _not-life._ All he’s deduced so far is that he’s in a state of in-between life and death, not quite one or the other. Maybe not, but it makes him feel a little less lonesome, so he convinces himself that he’s right.

 _Being a ghost does have its perks, after all._ Such as eavesdropping without getting caught. _He_ should _feel bad about it, he really should, yet he can’t_ (and won’t) _manage the heart for repentance. After all, he’s dead, and he’s ninety-percent sure he’ll stay that way. Meaning Skywalker can’t order him about even if Kane_ couldn’t _hide._

He silently follows Jango, who follows Rex and his other squad-mates up to a lookout point where Anakin has gathered most of Torrent Company together, only waiting on the captain to begin forming another plan of attack against the waning Confederacy forces in their sector.

They reach the building’s rooftop at last. Skywalker pointedly ignores (tries to, anyway) Tano and opens up a holomap of suspected Separatist droid formations. The non-coms and other soldiers mill about, peering into the holo and making their own assessments or to merely satisfy their curiosities.

Ahsoka looks like she’s trying to pay attention, but something in her peripheral view distracts her and she stealthily swipes the scopes from a nearby trooper’s tool belt.

She doesn’t notice Kane. Jango and Anakin don’t either, which Kane deems as a significant personal achievement. He’s figured out a way to _drift,_ as he’s named it. It’s what he does when he _‘sleeps’._ He just lets himself succumb to semi-consciousness. Except this time he doesn’t. He... _sinks,_ and watches as his half-corporeal body fades. He couldn’t really explain it if he tried. He stays a few feet away from the others, though, despite himself, and tries to discern what it is that Tano sees.

She’s peering over the ledge now, one boot wedged into a recess on the side of the wall that border’s the rooftop. Anakin glances over and sees her, then makes one quick long step forward to grab her by the thick belt fastened over her robes so he can pull her down.

“This isn’t a training exercise, youngling,” he admonishes. “The Seps use live rounds. Skyline yourself like that again and,”

“I know what I’m doing, master,” Tano replies calmly. “And I’m not a youngling. Besides, I saw—“

“I am _not_ your master,” Skywalker iterates firmly. Ahsoka’s face falls even further than her frustrated expression for a half-second until she fixes it. Anakin doesn't appear to notice her headtails twitch— bristle, whatever it is. Togrutan body language isn’t Kane’s strong suit.

All of a sudden, Ahsoka whirls around to tap Rex’s arm, her pointed claw-like fingernails making a _tatt-tatt_ sound on his armour to grab his full attention. He angles his head down at her in surprise for a few seconds before bowing to hear her hushed whisper. Anakin narrows his eyes.

“What is it?” He demands, almost offended that she’s twisted away from him in such a manner. Rex straightens.

“ _Commander Tano_ wants me to tell you that she sees movement at the Sep’s suspected position, sir,” he responds diplomatically. Anakin takes the scopes from Ahsoka’s hands and holds them up. He’s tall enough that he doesn’t have to clamber up onto the wall to look over it.

“I don’t see anything,” he frowns, lowering his arm. The abandoned tower has a clear view of thirty klicks in every direction. Yet somehow, the girl in front of him has noticed something his scopes can’t pick up. _GAR-issue_ scopes.

“It’s there, Master Skywalker,” Tano insists. “I have a farther field of vision than humans do, trust me. There’s something... I don’t know, _big_ moving over there and it’s coming toward us.”

Anakin’s frown deepens. _Maybe at her calling him her master again._ He utters a relenting sigh after a moment. “Rex, take the youngling down. Maybe you’ll pick up what she’s talking about on the long-range scopes. _But keep your head down,”_ he orders, looking at Ahsoka with masked disbelief. Kane sees right through it, if the others don’t.

They don’t.

“Very good, sir,” Rex responds. He stays in place. “I thought you said you’d never have a padawan, sir.”

Anakin grumbles. “I did. I _can’t_ have a padawan. There’s usually some sort of discussion about this first.”

“I’m still here, _Skyguy,_ ” Ahsoka interrupts harshly.

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Anakin exclaims, aghast with mortification. Rex lets out a loud bark of laughter at this.

“Skyguy,” he takes off his helmet, revealing the ear-splitting grin on his face. “Skyguy...”

“Listen, don’t get snippy with me, youngling. You’re not even _old_ enough to be a padawan.”

“Master Yoda thinks I am,” Ahsoka responds indignantly. “And I’m _not_ a youngling, I’m _fourteen._ ”

“I’m ten, but I’m tall for my age,” Rex interjects flatly. He’s since schooled his smile into a form of painstaking neutrality that does well to irk Skywalker even further, earning a long-suffering glare that’s then directed at Ahsoka— deadened into a _don’t-mess-with-me_ way.

A beat of tense silence passes. The trio apparently hasn’t noticed the chatter come to a standstill around them as the other troops stop to watch the exchange.

“C’mon,” Rex continues, clearing his throat and signalling for Tano to follow him. “Let’s go find your tinnies, Commander.”

Kane follows the two down the staircase, taking care not to get too close to Ahsoka for dear of pushing his luck. No one speaks until they reach the ground level and exit the tower into the central plaza, greeted by troop squads from both the 212th and 501st that are recuperating and checking their gear before the next inevitable skirmish starts.

Occasionally, Rex breaks the silence to point and instruct the padawan on military-related paraphernalia. Flak guns, guard posts, the like. Ahsoka’s robe sways in the breeze behind her, looking like a blanket hung over her thin frame.

 _Scrag, she’s_ _small_.

“Wouldn’t that line have better cover if you move them back?” She asks, looking up at the captain. Rex stares down at her and then up at the line of canons.

“They need range. And constantly monitoring for snipers,” he pauses, turning and gesturing up at the lookout they were previously in. Jango— ‘Kane’— has positioned himself with the barrel of his Deece aimed out in the direction Rex and Ahsoka are walking. Kane wouldn’t have seen him if he wasn’t pointed out, but now that he sees him he can spot the faint flash of the scope angled by the sunlight. He waves. “-so that isn’t something we have to worry about. Yet.”

Ahsoka nods and mutters out an “ _Ah_.”

They lapse into silence for a few more moments before the padawan opens her mouth again, then closes it, and reopens it...

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Rex prods. Tano huffs a deep sigh.

“Captain, I’m… not really sure how to…,” she groans abruptly, frustrated with herself. “Can you explain how the chain of command works? I know I’m a commander now but I just… don’t _understand._ And I don’t think Master Skywalker likes me very much so I can’t just march up there and _ask him,_ ” she gripes. She meets Rex’s gaze. His eyebrows are raised. “Sorry, that was…,” she halts. “Rude.”

Rex sets his helmet on a chunk of masonry and kneels down, getting eye-level with Ahsoka. She seems briefly taken aback, yet waits for him to start.

“Are you scared, littl’un?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “You _should_ be. Because if you’re not, you’re not grasping the severity of your situation. Everyone here,” he waves a hand widely at the troopers surrounding them. “Is scared. Pretending you aren’t is something you should _never_ do.” He states earnestly. “With me so far?”

Ahsoka nods tentatively. _She’s just a child,_ Kane notes, _stuffed with a child’s mercurine mixture of confidence and uncertainty._

“To answer your question, I take my orders from General Skywalker. It’s called the chain of command, and it _matters,_ because we all have to be clear who’s in charge, or else we’ll be running around like a pack of womp rats. And you take your orders from him, too, because you’re his padawan. Give it time, and experience…,” he trails. “Give _him_ time.” He reiterates.

“Experience matters,” she concludes. Her headtails hang down in front of her shoulders in a way that makes her appear crestfallen. “That makes sense.”

“Follow orders and you’ll stay alive,” Rex adds. “I cover your back, you cover mine. That goes for the entire unit. Three— rank doesn’t give you automatic respect. You earn it. Skywalker had to earn it, too.” He finishes.

Ahsoka nods her head up and down again, a curt movement. Her expression is a little more resolved, now.

“C’mon. Show me what you saw. We should be able to see it clearly,” he changes the subject, cocking his head to the side.

They amble up the roadway a short distance until they reach a ridge of debris used as a blockade, guarded by a group of soldiers in a sort of trench-maneuver formation, leaning up against concrete with the ends of their blasters notched through gaps or resting atop the makeshift wall.

“Sanney!” Rex barks. “See anything?”

Sanney scrambles over and gives a sharp salute, passing his scopes over. “Yes sir, I just called it in. We got Sep movement just like you said downwind fourty-or-so klicks,”

“What’s that?” Ahsoka exclaims, outstretching her hand. Rex nabs the scopes from Sanney and holds them up, passing his helmet to Ahsoka.

“Kriff,” he spits. “That’s going to make things damned near impossible. C’mon,” he starts suddenly, handing the scopes back to place a hand on the girl’s back. “Back to the CP, go. We’re no use down here.”

“What _is_ it?” Ahsoka asks again, nearly jogging to keep up with the captain’s brisk pace. She cranes her head to look behind, narrowed in on the red orb climbing the skyline.

“An energy field. Cannons are useless against one of those,” Rex explains. “We have enough numbers to keep the droids pinned down for now, but I have no idea how long we’ll be able to keep it up.”

“But you’ve got a plan, right?”

“We always have a plan, littl’un.” He breathes. “And if it doesn’t work we keep trying until we find one that works and hope we don’t die before it happens.”

Kane and Ahsoka both wince.

* * *

Jango sees it through his rifle scope before his earpiece has a chance to explode with warnings. It’s enough to make even _his_ blood curdle, and the energy shield is only growing larger and ever closer. He raises his head from his prone position, ready to call out to Skywalker, but the general’s own comm beats him to it. Then follows a string of very colourful Huttese (one that earns Skywalker an aghast look from Kenobi who had recently joined the group in the comm station). Thinking better of speaking, he lowers his gaze back down to the ground, keeping a watchful eye on Rex and the little Togruta as they dash back to the base from the forward line.

It doesn’t take long for the two to climb the stairway to their position, and by that time Skywalker’s expression has twisted further and further as his eyes scan the portable holomap in front of them. Blinking lights on the table signify the advancing droids, and a large half-sphere displays the shield.

Jango switches off his sniper position with Scythe and gathers around the table when prompted by Kenobi with a few other squads and the summoned NCOs, packed in so they can all view the screen. Jango looks down at his hip, where Ahsoka has squirmed her way through the troops to stand beside Rex— who ends up on Jango’s right side.

The holomap of Crystal City makes the Separatists’ strategy painfully clear.

“It’s hard to pinpoint where the shield’s generator is, but it’s most likely in this area somewhere,” Kenobi voices to the group, moving his finger in a circular motion into the mesh-work of light. “I say we save our ordnance for later, and as Captain Rex stated previously, our cannons won’t make much of a dent.”

“We could draw them into the buildings,” Rex suggests. “Make them look for us. We could set up vantage points— sabotage the braces and bring the buildings down on them. We’ve got enough tabana to do the job. They can’t fire their tanks from inside their shield."

Skywalker hums.

“Why not just take out the generator?” Ahsoka asks. “Or is it not that simple?”

Jango peers down at her.

“No, it’s not,” Skywalker replies. “I wish it were, but it’s a suicide mission. We can’t risk that,” he watches the padawan with an odd expression, half-expecting her to fire back a self-assured remark.

“Let me try, Master,” Ahsoka presses. “I’m fast and I’m small. I could set charges and blow them remotely. They won’t even know I’m there.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, littl’un,” Rex says quietly. The girl tilts her head up.

“I can do it. I know I can,” she lowers her chin slightly to look at the holo, waiting for someone to talk.

Skywalker opens his mouth, his lips curving to say _‘no’,_ and at that second the distinct feeling of an ice-cold hand pressing between his shoulder blades alerts Jango to Kane, literally _pushing_ him forward.

“I’ll go with her, sir,” he blurts. Every head snaps to him. Skywalker stares blankly, clearly letting his thoughts run.

“If I may, sir,” Leer interjects. “Kane’s one of the best men in my platoon,” he begins. Since the so-called _Slick_ _incident_ , the veteran had been promoted to staff sergeant of fourth platoon. “He’ll keep her… eh, _safe,_ ” Leer finishes, his tone faltering after everyone’s attention shifts to him. Clearly, public speaking is a recessive trait in Jango’s DNA.

“Very well,” Kenobi, to Jango’s surprise, concedes. “Private, pick two others and take Padawan Tano to the shield generators. Anakin and I will stage a diversion in sector… two, let’s say, and that should make it easier for you to slip through unnoticed.”

“Hold on,” Skywalker interrupts. “Don’t I get a—”

“I have confidence that your padawan is more than capable of holding her own,” Kenobi returns. “Don’t you? Besides, I need you _here._ ”

Skywalker sighs. “Alright,” he turns to Tano. “Get in there and get out as soon as possible.”

“We’ll need to defend the Arty position, sir,” Rex says. “If we can’t draw the Seps into the towers they’ll just take out our cannons and we’ll be in a helluva lot more trouble than what we started with.”

The briefing disperses not long after the generals lay out the foundations of a vague plan, centred entirely around if Jango and Ahsoka can complete their objective. He supposes to himself that he’s no less confident about this than Skywalker’s padawan makes herself out to be, but he knows better.

Skywalker catches Ahsoka on her arm before she has the chance to disappear into the staircase after Jango and the two others he chose— Deke and Wick, not because of personal bias or anything when it comes to being slippery in a firefight, though the thought had crossed his mind. They stop and wait.

“If we survive this, Snips, you and I are going to have a nice long talk.”

“Snips?” She says indignantly. A faint smile twitches on Skywalker’s face.

“Go, young one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> I’ve had this chapter almost ready for a few days now, but I didn’t have time to slap in the end section so I held back. I’ve been slacking on chapter length for the last while and that’s my own fault... oops
> 
> I nabbed some dialogue from the clone wars movie novelization partially because I couldn’t for the life of me remember what happened in the first half of the movie, so there’s only tiny bits and pieces from that book.
> 
> A little bit from Kane’s POV, there’ll be another chapter *okay,, several chapters* explaining cryptic force shit. Aside from the fact that the Battle of Teth is gonna fuckin’ gut me, I’m feeling pretty good about the word-count goal for finishing this arc.
> 
> HEY! We’re a third done this book... I mean, have been for a while, but for the sake of my own sanity (and bragging rights) I’m splitting this whole clusterfuck of an AU into a trilogy. We’ll see how far I drag it out.
> 
> Spoiler: I FULLY INTEND TO DRAG IT OUT


	11. Chapter Ten: "Left Foot Forward"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango feels a startling tingle, almost like electricity, washing like a wave of ice-cold water over his entire body. And like a thief in the night, the feeling is gone without a trace.

The group picks their way through Crystal City’s abandoned streets, heading straight to the droid army’s energy shield that creeps closer and closer to the 212th’s forward line. It’s slow and excruciatingly tedious work to clamber over and under the various piles of debris, destroyed tanks, cannons, aircraft, among concrete and collapsed buildings. Their orders, officially from Skywalker (who seemed somewhat perturbed at the realization that he wouldn’t be there to make up the plan himself from the top of his head) are to do their best to minimize destruction of property during the detonation of the generators. The Separatists were given no such order, which across the course of the campaign on Christopshis quickly turned urban warfare into full-frontal assaults and defence manoeuvres just to _stay alive_ on the 501st and 212th’s parts. Wick doesn’t want to think about how many bodies of his _vod’e_ are still trapped beneath the wreckage, left to be recovered only after the battle is won, if at all. His gut twists, so he pushes the idea away and focuses on not letting his foot snag in the potholes littering the cracked cobblestone road.

“What’s the plan, boss?” he asks. All three of his companions halt and twist their necks to look at him.

“Who’s the boss?” Deke asks. Kane looks at Deke, Deke looks at Kane, Wick looks at Commander Tano. The padawan’s eyes widen as all three clones slowly turn to her.

“No, _I’m_ the one with enthusiasm. _You’re_ the ones with experience. You show, I learn,” she emphasizes, pointing to Kane. Deke seems satisfied with this, so Wick does too.

“Oh… _kay_ ,” Kane responds, gesturing for the others to kneel so that they’re not entirely exposed. “We have to penetrate the shield, and then the Sep tank line. It’s a double barrier.”

“Can’t we just outflank them and go around?” Tano asks. Deke shakes her head.

“We don’t have enough time. Our base will be overrun by the time we get halfway there. No, it’s quicker to go straight through.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” Wick inquires snarkily. “It’s not like they’re just gonna let us walk in between their f—” he cuts himself short, remembering that he probably shouldn’t curse in front of a… _well_ … he corrects himself. “—between their invasion force.”

They fall silent for a few moments. Deke starts, suddenly, her whole body going rigid until she unseals her helmet to reveal a strange, excited sort of look on her face.

“We let it go _over_ us. The shield, I mean. Wick’s the smallest of us, he can take Commander Tano with him. We passed a supply crate not that long ago, they can get under it and let the droids pass by while the rest of us keep going at the pace we are, that way at least one group will make it to the generators in time to set the charges.”

Kane sighs. “I don’t know. Splitting up is risky.”

“We don’t exactly have a lot of options,” Wick replies. “Here, split the charges.”

“We’ve only got one detonator. What happens if whoever has it—”

Wick takes off his helmet to grin maniacally. Deke closes her mouth.

“What… what is that look,” Kane demands flatly. “Wick?”

“They don’t call me that for nothin’, _brother_ ,” he responds, taking half of the charges and the detonator from his pack to place in Deke’s. “Rendezvous back here if we’re not both dead, yeah?” With that, he beckons for Ahsoka to follow him with a flick of his wrist and the duo take off to where they saw the supply crate.

* * *

Wick turns to glance anxiously over his shoulder, eyes following the steadily advancing red orb as he rushes after Ahsoka, who has a considerably easier time scrabbling over the rocks and halved concrete. They find the crate. It takes Wick a few moments to wedge it free from the rubble but soon enough he’s carrying it with little effort to a section of open road, where he places it off to the side.

“You first, sir,” he speaks, gesturing for Ahsoka to duck under the crate. He places one end on the ground before crawling under it himself, surprised that it’s even large enough for the padawan much less someone his size.

“I hope you aren’t claustrophobic, private,” Ahsoka whispers. “Do you think this is gonna work?”

Wick chews his lip, waiting for a couple of seconds. “I hope so, sir. I don’t really like the thought of being crushed under Sep tanks.”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond. The two wait with anticipation, either for their plan to succeed or for the crate to go flying off of their bodies to be replaced by the business-end of a battle droid’s blaster.

“It’s getting closer,” Ahsoka hisses. Sure enough, the high-pitched ringing sound— almost like white noise— of the energy shield grows nearer, then turns to the signature crackle of electricity. Wick resists the urge to let out a whine of discomfort as it passes over them and makes his hair stand on end. Silently, Ahsoka places her hands on the sides of her head, her expression contorted. The metallic clank of droids marching around them follows it, and before long it’s dead quiet.

Wick checks his scanner once it stops glitching and makes a satisfied hum. “All clear, sir. If everything went okay on their end, Kane and Deke should already be at our rendezvous.”

“Right,” Ahsoka responds. She lifts the crate and wriggles out from under it.

“Alright, sir?” Wick asks.

Ahsoka nods and gives her shoulders a shake. Her short headtails sway with the movement. “I’d prefer _not_ to do that again if that’s alright with you.”

“Fine with me, sir,” he responds, giving the crate a shove with his foot to push it away.

* * *

“What exactly are we waiting for?” Deke whispers, shooting Jango a quizzical look. He doesn’t reply for a moment, keeping his gaze trained on Kane as he stoops to inspect the ground surrounding the generators.

“It could be mined. It probably _is_ mined,” he answers. Kane raises to his full height and gestures to an antenna sticking out of the ground, followed by a shrug. Jango jabs a finger at the button on his wrist communicator and holds it up to his mouth, his helmet resting on one knee. “CT-30-1283, do you read?”

“Yup,” Wick blurts, causing both Deke and Jango to jump. He kneels beside the two with Ahsoka in tow, having unintentionally sneaked up from behind. “Sitrep?”

“I think we’re looking at a minefield,” Jango responds, pointing to where Kane was before he simply... _evaporated_ -— who was previously sweeping the rest of the area with a scouring look of concentration. “Possibly triggered by pressure-plates, or maybe a remote relay of some sort. I’m not sure. See that antenna poking out of the ground?” he points. “It’s rubbing me the wrong way.”

Wick lets out a hum in the back of his throat. “Hold these, kid,” he says, passing the pack of explosives to Ahsoka and without warning, vaults the section of cover. She looks like she wants to follow, but wordlessly Jango places a hand on her shoulder to keep her from it.

“What are you doing?” Deke exclaims.

“Hey, there’s only one way to find out. Y’know, if Scud were here this might be going quicker,” he implies, glancing over his shoulder.

“Next time you think we might need a certified demolitions expert and not just another ordinary _pyromaniac_ , you let me know,” Jango retorts. “And I don’t think Scud would’ve liked being cramped inside of that crate, either.”

Wick takes a few tentative steps, scanning the ground before each step. Soon enough he develops a pattern until he’s amid the courtyard-like area surrounding the generators. Just like Kane, he inspects the antenna closely for a few moments and then starts to adjust a setting on his helmet’s screen.

“Anything?” Deke calls out.

After speculation, Wick gives her a response. “There’s something down there, alright. My scanners are out of wack with all this,” he waves to the generator’s beam. “But my best guess is this thing down here is an LR-57 model based on the tech readout,” he states. “I could be wrong. Either way, whatever it is there’s more than one. As long as no one trips these antennas, we’ll be good to go.”

Deke gets up to begin picking her way through the rigged expanse, but Ahsoka’s hand shoots out and latches onto her wrist.

“Look,” the girl exclaims, pointing to the edge of the shield. “Masters Kenobi and Skywalker are going to be overrun soon if they aren’t already. We don’t have time to waste if we’re practically _crawling_ our way to the generator and back.”

Jango watches her for a moment. “You’re the ranking officer here, Commander. Any ideas? We can’t just throw the explosives to Wick, there’s enough tabana in that pack to send everything within a kilometre’s radius into _orbit_ if it hits the ground too hard.”

“You’re right, we can’t throw them,” Ahsoka responds. “But _I_ can do _this_ ,” she adds, opening the pack with one hand and raising the other- with it rises one of the charges by itself.

Abruptly, Jango feels a startling tingle, almost like electricity, washing like a wave of ice-cold water over his entire body. And like a thief in the night, the feeling is gone without a trace. He snaps back to his senses, and with the few seconds passed Ahsoka has already passed the charge to Wick and is moving several more at a time.

Within a few minutes, the explosives are placed and primed, leaving only Wick to make his way back and the rest to set off the charges.

“Ready?” Deke calls. Wick sticks out a thumbs up and takes a step forward- but shouts in surprise as he begins to slowly levitate into the air just like the charges. Snapping his head toward her, Jango can only watch as the padawan brings Wick toward them, her hands and fingers ever so slightly trembling. Gently, she lowers Wick’s feet back to the ground and the group lets out a collective sigh of relief.

“A little warning might’ve been nice, sir,” Wick gasps, stumbling a few steps until he regains proper balance.

Ahsoka blinks. “Sorry, I didn’t think we could spare the time,” she apologizes.

“The commander’s right,” Jango states. “Set the timer and let's put as much distance between this place and us as we can.”

Wick lifts the holopad attached to his belt. “Done, now we c—” he freezes mid-step and slowly puts the holo back in its place before pointing downward, drawing the others’ attention to the wire being bent forward by Wick’s boot. “...Kark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> hey, i'm back :)
> 
> august was... not a good month for me if i'm being perfectly honest. i know this chapter is only another halfie, but it's overdue and i'm working back to getting to my usual pace, and figure out how to not overwhelm myself during my writing process. tysm for being patient and i hope you're not too frustrated with me for taking another (much needed) break!
> 
> also, a shoutout to @Noble_Reflex for being my unofficial official technical advisor. i'm 100% serious when i say i'm taking your awesome ideas, mods & etc. into account and trying to fit some of them in where i can in the next few chapters!! :)
> 
> on a related note, if you have ideas for my fic or fun things you'd like to see in the way of characters, plots, planets, whatever, let me know in the comments or feel free to ask questions! i love to engage with you all, even if sometimes it takes me a few days to reply. i'm so grateful for your support! <3
> 
> OKAY LAST THING: we're edging on the end of the christophsis arc. in about two or three more chapters torrent company will be deployed to teth monastery, and if you know anything about me from comments, end notes, or my writing, it's gonna hurt :>


	12. Chapter Eleven: "Into The Fire"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: Wick lifts the holopad attached to his belt. “Done, now we c—” he freezes mid-step and slowly puts the holo back in its place before pointing downward, drawing the others’ attention to the wire being bent forward by Wick’s boot. “...Kark.”

“Run for it!” Wick blurts, stooping to grab Ahsoka and throw her over his shoulder, not waiting for a moment's notice as the ground starts to rumble threateningly behind them, letting loose a shower of rock and dust as the LR-57 crashes through the roughly-hewed cobblestone. The movement disturbs the ground around it, including the other antennas.

Ahsoka screeches, partially in indignant protest at being treated like a sack of meilooruns, and clambers for her lightsaber to deflect a blow from the droid’s blaster. “They’re following us!” she wails, grunting as Wick jostles her with each bounding step.

“Stop here,” Jango orders, and the rest oblige. “Deke, toss me a thermal,” he hollers, lowering himself to one knee while rifling through his pack. The LR-57 rears into view again from around the tower they had passed, thumping slowly until it spots them, to which it promptly releases a spray of blaster fire. It’s all Wick and Deke can do to dive out of the way, but Ahsoka pushes away from Wick and holds her ground to deflects the bolts from reaching Jango. She cocks her head to the side, peering at him as he links the second detonator to one of the charges.

“Any time!” Deke yells, reaching for the Deece swinging on her belt’s holster clip.

“ _Sooran, shab_!” Jango hollers, standing suddenly to lob the rigged-explosive at the droid, followed closely by another five LR-57 units. It detonates on impact, throwing a wave of hot air at the clones and their commander that nearly throws them off their feet. Ahsoka stumbles slightly as Jango drags her away from the droid scraps and those that weren’t completely destroyed.

Not long after they’ve begun running again, the generators blow. It’s not enough to send them flying, but enough that the ground shakes under them as they watch the red energy-shield fade completely.

“Try your long-range comms,” Jango heaves, gasping for air and staggering to a standstill once the quartet stops for air. By this time, the remaining LR-57s have fallen behind out of sight.

“Master, are you there?” Ahsoka speaks, finally clipping her lightsaber back onto her belt. The radio feedback is filled with white noise until General Skywalker’s voice patches through with a relieved tone— one that sets aside the frayed nerves of the group.

“Great work, Ahsoka!” Skywalker exclaims, amid the sounds of blaster fire in the background. “We’ve got air support inbound now that the shield’s gone, I’m sending a larty to your location to pick you up,” he finishes. Ahsoka beams— or at least Jango _thinks_ she does, yet when he turns to face her, her expression is unerringly neutral and devoid of the emotion that he had noticed. His brow furrows for a brief second, though he pushes it aside and presses his canteen into her hand once she ends the communication.

“I’d call that a success,” Wick announces, puffing his chest with pride. Deke rests her helmet on a block of rubble and sighs before looking at him. He stares back innocently. “What? We destroyed the generator, Commander Tano got her learning experience, no one _died,_ ”

“Did you forget the part about you setting off the trap we worked so hard _not_ to trigger?” Deke remarks with a bemused laugh.

“ _Adiikase_ ,” Jango interrupts quietly, and the two fall silent with sheepish smiles. He turns again to the padawan. “What do you think, sir? Was your first mission a success?”

Ahsoka meets his gaze and cracks a grin after contemplation. “...I think so, yeah. But I vote we _don’t_ tell General Skywalker about the droids,” she adds.

“I’ll take that as an order, sir,” Jango smiles, extending an arm as the girl passes back the water.

* * *

The flight back to the _Resolute_ was a quiet one, once the gunship promised by Skywalker had flown in and extracted the group, but that silence had quickly been replaced by the bustling chaos of deck crew dashing about and medics unloading casevacs, 5772 most likely included among the throng.

“It’s good to see you all in one piece,” Captain Rex calls out, striding toward them as the Larta doors open. “Can’t say the same for us, unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” Deke swallows, looking around at a flaming bomber being hosed down on the landing pad. “It looks like the boys are taking a helluva beating, sir,” she says.

“All in a day’s work,” Rex answers, with a sigh. “C’mon, the Generals have been waiting for you to get back.”

Ahsoka peers up at him. “Do we have another mission?” the captain purses his lips and nods, leaving it at that as he gestures for the commander and soldiers to follow him.

They proceed to make their way up to the war room without speaking, and during the short period in the lift, Jango contemplates the strange feeling that had revisited him , so similar to those he’d experienced with Kane during his stay on Kamino. It makes him shudder, causing Deke to send him an askance look, but the lift doors slide open before she has the chance to prod him about his odd behaviour.

“Masters,” Ahsoka greets, bowing cordially as she steps foot in the war room. Anakin smiles, which takes Jango aback, it being a stark contrast to the Jedi’s closed-off attitude earlier in the day. Perhaps the outcome of their mission had something to do with it, as Skywalker beckons Tano to his side.

“Thank you for joining us,” Kenobi addresses the troops. Jango looks around the circle. Besides Rex, Deke, and Wick, a few others from their squad and Scythe _(the new platoon leader, by the looks of the freshly-painted rank insignia on his left shoulder plate, a chevron design)_ and a trooper adorned in recon-commando gear are all gathered. “I’d hoped that you would all be given the opportunity to rest before our next deployment but it seems that isn’t the case.” Kenobi sighs.

“Jabba the Hutt’s son has been kidnapped by the Separatists. They mean to pin it on the Republic and return the kid as a means to gain access to Hutt-controlled trade routes in the outer rim,” Skywalker adds. Jango doesn’t miss the way his upper lip seems to curl with contempt at the mention of Jabba whilst he continues. “Intel tells us Jabba’s son is being held in a monastery on Teth, a planet deep in Wild Space. Commander Jarkiv here will be performing a recon to the monastery and hopefully provide us with more information, though for now, try and catch some shut-eye. We’re on an eight-hour standby, so be ready to leave when he checks back in. Rex, patch us in to the ground,” Skywalker finishes, turning away to enter the bridge with Rex and Ahsoka.

Kenobi dismisses Scythe and the others and Jango goes to follow until he’s called back by Commander Jarkiv. “I’ll leave you to it,” Kenobi says, before exiting the war room after Anakin. As soon as he leaves, Jango feels the presence of Kane standing beside him with an excited grin.

“What, you don’t recognize me?” Jarkiv laughs, after the two exchange a salute.

“He trained us. I mean, _me_ ,” Kane speaks.

“No sir, how could I forget,” Jango responds.

“Good. I hope you haven’t forgotten what I taught you, because you’re going to need it,” Jarkiv replies, picking up his helmet from the war table. “Walk with me, _vod_ ,” he says, turning to leave the bridge entirely. “I want you to come on the op with me. It’s a big step for you, but it’s nothing you haven’t trained for with your unit a thousand times,” Jarkiv explains.

“Sir?” Jango asks.

“Just as General Skywalker said, they’re on eight-hour standby. Which leaves us two hours of hyperspace travel and a jump into hostile territory. Hostile, _eh_ , more-or-less.”

“Do you really think I’m ready for it, sir?” Jango inquires. Kane walks on the other side of Jarkiv, keeping in step.

“You’ll have to be sooner or later, Kane,” Jarkiv answers truthfully. “Regardless of my opinion, your credentials check out. Word is among the Rancor boys, you aced your exam perfectly with no shortage of slick moves.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s decided, then. Go get your kit ready, there’s a shuttle waiting for us in Bay 2. I’ll meet you there,” Jarkiv concludes, and turns down into the officers’ barracks corridor.

Jango watches him walk away for a moment.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire, right?” Kane says.

Jango whirls to face him. “You were trained by the _Marshall-Commander_ of the 42nd Airborne?” he marvels incredulously. “ _I_ trained _him_ ,” he hisses. “Kid, you’ve got to stop downplaying your skills and let me show off a little more.”

Kane lets out a shrill laugh, following Jango as he begins walking to his squad’s quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> I AM SO SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT (AGAIN) MY WIFI HAD TO BE FIXED! I've had this ready for almost two weeks now and I couldn't post it :(
> 
> Moving on from that, TETH! TETH NEXT CHAPTER! PAIN! I've settled on a chapter-length now that doesn't kill me to produce, but I might still occasionally write them to be 4k if I'm feeling like it.
> 
> Also, my birthday is on this coming Friday and I'm turning 17!! And on the 18th, What Doesn't Kill You will be officially five months old! That's craaazzyy?? I'm so happy how this fic is turning out and I hope you are as well! Happy (early) Canadian Thanksgiving as well to those who celebrate it!! I hope you're doing well :)
> 
> New character! Marshall-Commander Jarkiv is my oc from an original star wars novel that I'm working on!
> 
> Many thanks to Noble_Reflex again for the ARF trooper idea, I know it might not seem too clear yet but the next chapters will work on that! ARF troopers are so interesting to me so I'm going to tie them into Jango/Kane's story :) If you don't know what they are, ARF stands for Advanced Recon Force Scout Trooper! Wookiepedia has a good article on them if you'd like to read up! 
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> sooran, shab — (rough translation) eat this, asshole!


	13. Chapter Twelve: "Pull Upon The Risers"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the present, your thoughts must be," Yoda reprimands. "Always changing, our present is. Come, meditate."

Jango gazes down through the grated floor of the drop bay, his hand gripping a line of piping above his head that his parachute’s static line is attached to. Beside him, Commander Jarkiv (a prime example of the skills that Jango had personally passed down by means of rigorous training) gives his weapon another once-over as the duo calmly await word from the shuttle’s captain announcing their arrival to the drop zone.

Kane flickers. He watches the jungle below flash by in a blur of muted greys and purples, a drab sort of mud colour mimicked in the digital-patterned camouflage on Jarkiv and Jango’s plastoid, the latter of which is smartly fitted in ARF trooper armour; lightweight yet durable, made specifically for swift movement and stealth.

Jarkiv doesn’t look any different than Kane remembers him. The older clone, harrowed by over half a year of non-stop war and a lifetime of gruelling physical and mental preparation, hardly looks a day older than a shiny— save for the hardly-visible lines on his forehead and the sporadic flecks of silver dotting the stubble on his cheeks. Jarkiv, his name meaning _strength_ , the closest person any in Kane’s spec-ops unit had to a parental figure, here right in front of him. It hadn’t crossed Kane’s mind to think the famed commander dead after months of radio silence before his own untimely death. It hadn’t crossed anyone’s mind. The man was simply the _best._

“Heads up, private,” Jarkiv barks, his voice loud over the roar of the shuttle’s turbines. The jump-master sitting by the bay door stands, lifting his hands to sign him tugging on an invisible static-line.

“Sound off for equipment check!”

The commander pats down Jango’s harness for him, tugging on various straps in a rapid motion to ensure them secure, then turns to let Jango reciprocate.

“Two okay!” Jarkiv hollers.

“One okay!” Jango adds, turning to face the jump-master. With that, the officer turns to pull a latch beside the door, manually opening the bay and its gangplank. The duo moves forward, shuffling due to the weight of their packs, and await the signal.

Beside his head, a light switches green, and the jump-master waves his hand while shouting “ _go_ , _go_ _go!”_

Seconds pass, leaving Kane to watch the soldiers launch themselves into the fall— with nothing to do but stare blankly after them.

_Now what?_

All of a sudden, as if his foot’s been snagged in the tresses of Jango’s parachute chord, he feels pulled with the man as he descends, almost like he’s back inside his former body, in control, but the exhilarating sensation halts as the two living soldiers connect with the ground with grunts whilst they cut themselves free from the chutes. Kane looks to his counterpart, surprised to see him entirely unfazed.

“Four klicks east,” Jarkiv whispers, checking his holo. “That should leave us with enough time to check back in with the generals and get this show on the road,” he finishes. Jango nods curtly in response, leaving both nothing else to do but begin their trek through the dense jungle.

* * *

_**Coruscant** _

“I’m not quite sure that I grasp what you’re saying,” Shaak says, holding back a frustrated sigh and instead she settles for pinching the bridge of her nose. “I cannot simply _walk_ into Kaminoan High-Command and demand an audience with Lama Su. Finding answers to our questions takes _time_ , Master Mundi, especially in war and especially from a people known for their secrecy. _More so_ if we wish to remain silent on the matter at hand.”

“Time that we do not have!” Mundi restates firmly. “Surely, we don’t intend to ignore this... _influx_ of force-sensitives? Republic clones or not we have a sworn duty, and not to speak of the terrible possibility of Dooku discovering or worse, _obtaining_ a force-sensitive clone. An adult, no less, able to be... _reprogrammed_.”

Collective shudders ripple through the force signatures of the Jedi Masters gathered in the Council Room at the end of Mundi’s sentence. Shaak’s nails dig into her palm briefly.

“Leave it, we must, until joined by the full council, we can be,” Master Yoda hums gravely. He lets his eyes wander across the many empty seats in the concourse. Shaak stands to leave with the others, but the rumbling voice of the Grandmaster calls her back. “Encountered a force-sensitive, you have?” he smiles knowingly.

“How did you...?” Shaak trails off and closes her mouth.

“Their name, did they reveal?”

The Togruta waits a moment before responding. “Yes. A boy, Kane. He was killed in an... inhumane nature,” she admits.

“Troubled you greatly, this has,” Yoda observes. Shaak nods solemnly. “...someone else there was, hmm?” he adds after a pause. Shaak’s face contorts in surprise, but Yoda continues. “Someone thought dead, perhaps?” he holds up a clawed finger to stop Ti from exclaiming. “Visions,” he pauses. “Visions of an old _acquaintance_ , yes.” he casts a slow glance at Windu’s retreating form. Shaak follows his gaze.

“You don’t think,” she whispers lowly, the puzzled expression on her features dissipating in a flash of recognition. “ _It can’t be_.”

“But it _can_ ,” Yoda presses. “Meditate on this, we shall. Much to learn!” he chitters, letting out a jovial noise. Shaak minds the sudden pool of tension coiling within her— the possibility of a man back from the dead. _A man who could quite easily change the course of the war._

"Any news from Master Kenobi? How long until he is able to join us?"

"Broken, the blockade of Christophsis is. Not long— other concerns at hand, there is."

Shaak aahs. "Yes, Jabba's son. I'd nearly forgotten."

"In the present, your thoughts must be," Yoda reprimands. "Always changing, our present is. Come, meditate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> i haven't had time to write *at all*!! D: You know how I said "Teth next chapter"? haha. 
> 
> I've picked up a few ideas on how I want to pull together chapter 13. things are coming along smoothly— i know this one's short again but I've decided that consistent chapter length is simply not the vibe when I have different tones I want to express. (I love writing Yoda dialogue!!! it's so pog!!! green man go brrrrr)
> 
> i hope your days have been good! :)


	14. Chapter Thirteen: "Recognition Of A Dead Man"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jango, Jarkiv and Kane make it back in time to join Skywalker's forces. Kenobi has a bad feeling.

_**Teth, Wild Space** _

“What’s the status?” Jarkiv asks, moving toward Jango. A portable long-range transmitter stands erected behind him where he had just finished setting it up, emitting an occasional whir as it tries to connect to a signal.

“Looks like those bounty hunters went up there,” is the response, as Jango lowers his scopes to point up at the tall spiral plateau jettisoning from the ground, atop it the so-called ‘abandoned’ monastery looming in a threatening presence.

“Contact General Windu. Tell him we found the Hutt,” Jarkiv orders, taking the scopes that are passed to him from the private.

Jango freezes for merely a second, exceedingly thankful for the helmet working as a shroud to cover his mortified expression for what feels like the thousandth time that week. Something tenses, giving him half the mind to think it merely the hair raising on his neck at the mention of Windu only to realize mere moments later that it’s _Kane_ cringing inwardly— and Jango can feel it through whatever bond they’ve unintentionally managed to create as if the emotions were his own. Technically, they _are_ , but it’s his combat mentality that keeps his reaction in check. He collects himself and stalks toward the transmitter to begin patching a message through a secure channel to the Jedi Temple.

If he had time, he might marvel at the circumstances he’s landed in. To have a direct connection to Republic resources, codes, secrets, all at his fingertips? Had he _survived_ Geonosis, _really_ survived, how different would everything be? Would the war have lasted as long as it has if he was successfully captured and interrogated by the Jedi to reveal what he knew of Dooku’s involvement in the cloning process?

Before he knows it, the transmission is received on the temple’s end and the face of the man who took his life is displayed before him in the holo. Jarkiv walks over.

“Yes, commander?” Windu asks.

“We’ve discovered that Jabba the Hutt has also hired bounty hunters to track his son down. I believe their trail is the lead that intelligence gave us. There’s an old monastery to our north, we can confirm it’s where Jabba’s son is being held, but it’s too heavily fortified for us to do anything alone, sir.”

The Jedi Master nods. “Commander, stay out of sight and await further orders.”

“Will do, General,” Jarkiv replies, saluting as the holo fades out. Jango twists to look up at him from his kneeling position near the transmitter.

“Sir?” he inquires, adjusting his tone to keep his disappointment from coming through. Raiding a monastery sounded like _fun_ , of a sick and twisted sort.

“Head back to the shuttle. There’s nothing more for us to do here. Skywalker should arrive in the system in less than two hours, and we don’t want to miss our pickup,” Jarkiv answers. “So long as we don’t run into any trouble...” he trails. “I’ve got a feeling.”

“Good or bad?” Jango asks. He kicks a plate on the transmitter and it folds itself up, for the most part, only leaving him to secure the side panels for transportation.

“This is the easy part, kid,” Jarkiv sighs, picking up a pack from the ground. “If you’re lucky, Skywalker’s ground assault will have Atties. Otherwise, you’re gonna be scaling that rock wall with ascension cables— and even for me, that doesn’t look like a good time. C’mon, let’s get moving.”

* * *

Kane follows his two companions down the gangplank of the _Nu_ -class shuttle, closed in once more by the broad expanse of the Resolute’s landing bay, already brimming with assault vehicles being loaded with medical equipment, ammunition, and soldiers. Skywalker is striding toward them, his padawan nowhere to be seen— likely being situated with a squad to command.

“Commander, did the kidnappers see you?” the general demands. His cloak sways behind him as he comes to a standstill in front of the troopers to receive their salute.

“No sir,” Jarkiv responds.

“What about the bounty hunters? Are they still down there?”

“I don’t think so,” the officer answers. “We haven’t seen them in a while.”

Kane purses his lips. Behind Skywalker, Tano appears through a corridor with Scythe on her heels. Unlike on Christophsis, she’s wearing armour plating similar to Kenobi’s, designed for swift movement. Now, she looks less eager to please and more sombre, probably from the realization that this mission won’t be as lucky as her last.

“What are we up against?” Skywalker’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

Jango takes a holoprojector from his belt and powers it on. “Looks like at least two droid battalions protecting the monastery. It’s heavily fortified, sir. You won’t be able to land there.”

The Jedi nods, satisfied. “Good work. Get some rest,” he says to Jango in dismissal, signalling for Jarkiv to follow him.

“You heard the man,” Jarkiv speaks, turning to Jango. “You did good, kid.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jango responds. He unseals his helmet and lifts it off, bidding goodbye to the commander before heading off in the direction of his squad’s barracks. “We need to talk,” he hisses, swinging his arm out in Kane’s general direction once the door behind him slides shut. Kane concentrates on corporeality, flicking into a dull glow beside the man as he walks briskly to the nearest surveillance camera’s blind spot.

“You can feel it,” Kane speaks as they halt. “When you jumped from the shuttle, I was still standing there, but it was like you’d snagged me with a grappling line and,”

“Then I was in the backseat,” Jango finishes his sentence. “You were in control, kid. How?” he whispers.

“I think we’re connected. Obviously, I mean, with my body, but _more_ than that. I think I’m physically tethered to you. That would explain why I was, _uh_ , y’know...” he stutters, losing confidence in his theory when he looks up to see Jango’s expression.

“Handed the joystick?” he replies dryly.

“Yeah.”

Jango purses his lips, contemplating. A voice blares on the speakers, calling the members of Torrent Company to the landing bay that the two had just left for the mission briefing. After a moment, he meets the other’s gaze again.

“You don’t have to go,” Kane says. “You’ve been awake for almost twenty hours.”

“No, we’re going,” Jango states, replacing his helmet. “I promised you I’d keep our squad safe and I intend to keep my word.” At this, Kane nods and the two turn back in the direction that they had come.

* * *

_**The** _ _**Negotiator** _ _**, orbiting Christophsis** _

“Alright Anakin, here’s the story. Jabba has only given us _one_ planetary rotation to get his son back home to Tatooine safe and sound.”

“We’ll do it, Master,” Skywalker responds. Obi-Wan nods.

“We don’t really know who’s holding his son. Whoever it is managed to kill a complete team of bounty hunters. That’s not your average criminal scum,” he continues warily.

“And we’re not the average hostage-extraction team, either,” Anakin counters. “Don’t worry about us, Master.”

“I’ll rendezvous with you as soon as I’ve concluded negotiations. May the force be with you.”

The holo flickers out. Accompanied by the stark silence of the dark war room, the General of the Third Army raises his hand from beneath the folds of his cloak to habitually stroke his chin, keeping a troubled gaze levelled on the table in front of him that displays the miniature globe of Christophsis turning slowly on an invisible axle.

“Patch me in to General Yoda,” he asks of the comms officer to his left, and within seconds the withered master appears.

“Sensed it in the force, a disturbance you have?” Yoda asks knowingly. Obi-Wan simply nods, locked in a state of unease.

“Nearly a week has passed, and nothing’s come of it. I would’ve brushed it off as combat fatigue if it weren’t for...” he trails, closing his mouth. “You know who it is, don’t you.”

“Not _who_. Know _of_ , I do,” Yoda responds truthfully. “Brought to my attention, this has been, by Master Ti. Much to discuss, the council has.”

Kenobi stares into the holo as it dissipates minutes later, the shadowed frown lines on his face deepened by the fluorescent blue glow. Lingering with him, still, is the unsettling recognition thrown his way by the force mere hours prior. The recognition of a dead man.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ edited: 12/30/20 ]
> 
> woo!! tysm for all the reads, comments, and kudos! it means the world :)
> 
> also, happy 6 month anniversary to this fic!! it's not the 18th yet, but i'm so amazed at the feedback ive been given even though ive taken many breaks! in hindsight, this year probably wasn't ideal for starting a project considering the... eh... bumps in my mental health, but now that the holidays are coming next month im hoping that I'll have time to write more frequently and catch up on editing!! xx
> 
> p.s, my tumblr is sizzuhs-roe ! i'd love to hang out with yall on there :) so feel free to shoot me a dm or ask!


	15. Chapter Fourteen: "The Climb"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Torrent Company begins their assault.

**Teth Monastery**

The roar of the gunships descending through the Jungle planet Teth’s atmosphere, a distinct vibration that feels like a bellowing cacophony inside 5772’s ribs repeats incessantly as they clutch the straps of the medipak hung across their shoulders like a lifeline. Coric, famed among the young medics as a man with the reputation for taking no _osik_ from anyone, stands grimly with his back pressed against the fuselage while nodding in response to something Sergeant Leer says to him over the comm channel in their helmets.

Keeping their eyes trained to the map projected from the Sergeant’s projector, 57’s thoughts are nothing but a void sense of unbothered tranquillity. Within that, if they dig for it (which isn’t something that happens often) is a raw and boiling anger that only ever manages to show itself through a clenched jaw and a little blue vein that strains on their forehead. They can’t let it go further than that. The last time it did, well...

They squeeze their eyes shut for a moment and let them open again.

“ _ETA eight mikes and counting_ ,” the pilot’s voice cuts into the quiet conversations over the unit’s private channel, effectively cutting them off and triggering a chain reaction of weapon and equipment checks. _Click, click, click, click._ Like a timer. It’s a methodical sweep— first, they check the rear-side aperture, the chamber, the barrel. They tug on the various pieces of their armour webbed together and hold their breath for a few seconds before letting it go.

A sudden explosion in the air knocks the standing soldiers to the floor as the gunship evades to the side. They immediately stand up only to be thrown again, though this time they expect it. The blast shields close, cutting out natural light to be replaced by the inner cabin’s flickering carmine light bars.

“Ridge, your comm’s gone static!” 57 yells over the din, slapping a hand onto the shoulder of the man beside them to grab his attention.

“Red light, stand by,” Leer orders. The squad, surmounted of Tango and the assembly of replacement shinies and veterans prior to Christophsis, adds up to fourteen packed into the LAAT/i including the stretcher 5772 is responsible for. Ridge places his hand on their shoulder for a moment to steady himself, and instinctively 57 pushes into it so he doesn’t topple again.

The ship lurches as it lowers for a landing. “Welcome to paradise, rock-jumpers,” the pilot calls, opening the doors for the unit to disembark. The lights indoors flash green before 57’s view is met by a murky purple hue of Teth’s forest floor. Clouds of dust snake upward into a cloud as the gunship lifts off behind them, and they stay kneeling to the ground beside Coric until the portable medical equipment is secured to both of their persons. The crimson corpsmen insignia stark against their off-white plastoid like a target that practically screams _p_ _ick me!_ Shaking off the tension in their shoulders, 57 readies their ascension cable attached to their belt.

In the eyes of the republic, medics are an endless commodity. One gets cut down, another takes their place. All it takes is a cadet to be plucked from the masses, bestowed with the same _do-or-die_ mental as so many before them. It’s easier, in a way. Medics are required by regulation to maintain combat efficiency at all times for maximum effectiveness on the battlefield, especially in manual operations. However, on the other hand, there’s no regulation that tells you what to say when your _vod_ is dying in your arms, or how to process the gut-wrenching guilt as you spray the blood off your armour with a hose after a medbay shift. There’s no regulation for when it’s _aliit_ , and when it’s your friend.

“See you at the top!” Deke barks, turning her head toward them before aiming her deece upward at the rock wall. The latch-end of her cable shoots out and dives into the stone, and the private gives it a firm tug before she links the cable to herself and begins to grapple.

“Be ready to catch,” is all Coric says to them over his comms. The sentence makes 5772’s blood run cold.

“Clankers inbound!” someone screams, and the surrounding troops crane their necks to squint in the direction of the droids, riding down on weaponized hover-bikes. A flash of blue, and Skywalker has already leapt to slice one in half. 57 refocuses on climbing. Kick out, the ascension line shortens, their feet meet rock. Kick out, repeat. Dodge debris, Reach out for a brother and watch him fall. Kick out, ascend, hook an arm under a _vod_ when the ledge beneath her boot breaks off. 5772 grits their teeth and moves on.

* * *

“Duck!” Kane commands, but instead of letting Jango do it himself he forcefully slaps a hand atop the man's head and pushes him out of the way of an incoming blaster bolt.

Despite himself, Jango gasps when he sees the shot collide with an incoming droid in the exact instant that he’s shoved, and sends an appreciative look toward Kane. It doesn’t do much, considering his helmet.

Upon making the plateau, Torrent Company immediately sets to work pushing back the droid offensive though with little accomplishment on their side. The sheer number of forces greeting them was overwhelming to see from afar, but now that they’ve met it face-to-face it's all they can do to keep from dropping like flies. Skywalker too, it appears, is struggling to bat away and accurately redirect shots.

Kane peeks over the ledge. The Atties are still crawling up the side with the remainder of Torrent. _Too_ _slow_ for comfort, but merely metres away nonetheless. Balancing on the closed cockpit of the nearest walker, Commander Tano stares in his direction with a grim squint as she pulls a spider droid toward her with the force, cleaving it as it falls. The two halves of metal continue to fall away on either side and knock against the walker, and by this time the small Jedi has resumed deflecting the bolts being fired downward at her.

 _Alright, Kane,_ _you can do this_ , he says to himself. Narrowing his eyes, he turns and locks his gaze onto the nearest battle droid, gives his shoulders a shake as if to make up his mind, and takes a run for it. Expecting to pass straight through, his jaw falls agape when he skids to a stop and his hand lands a solid grip on the strip of metal that passes for the droid’s neck. It clearly has noticed nothing, only continues to fire its blaster whilst a wickedly enamoured grin strikes’ Kane’s face. What it _does_ notice, however, is when it is suddenly hurdled backward off the monastery platform and into the open air.

“ _Wayii_ _,”_ he whispers hoarsely, staring at his open palm with wide eyes. _All you have to do is focus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! :) I hope you all had a good holiday if you celebrated one last month and happy new year! I wanted to have this up last week actually, but my brother came home from college for the majority of December and left on Saturday. I hadn't seen him since August before that, so needless to say I prioritized my time :3
> 
> I have a bunch of neat ideas for the next chapter, and I hope to upload it next week. I also went through and completely edited this entire fic! Nothing major, just minor edits for spelling or grammar errors. I also changed a small thing in Jango and Kane's first interaction to be slightly more formal. Kane refers to Jango as "sir" a few times in chapter one and two rather than "vod" because I felt they probably wouldn't feel a very strong family connection at first. My writing style has changed since I first started this fic and I've been meaning to go back and fix inconsistencies. I originally planned for this chapter to be around 2k ish but my attention span isn't working very well with me right now... oops.
> 
> Enjoy this little piece of 5772's character! I've decided that the majority of this arc is going to delve further into them and what goes on in their head as a medic in the 501st. The next chapter will be almost entirely focusing on them.
> 
> (If you have any suggestions or questions, feel free to comment but please be polite!)
> 
> Mando'a translations  
> Wayii — general expression of surprise, negative or positive


End file.
